Rearrange The Stars
by Nadin4400
Summary: When Owen's work visa expires, threatening to shut down not only his project but also Claire's, she offers him to get married before he is deported so he could continue to work at the park and she could get the required funding for the Indominus-Rex. Clawen. Humor. Angst.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** I've had several requests for The Proposal kind of scenario applied to Claire and Owen, I've been trying to get somewhere with this idea for months now, so... This is not a movie rip-off. I tried to apply it to the JW-world, so let's see if my Adaptation class is going to pay off :) The whole script of The Proposal is something like 120 pages long, and it's not happening but this story will have, I think, 3 parts (most of this stuff is finished, and it feels too long to be a one-shot?)

* * *

There were days when Owen Grady loved his job more than anything else in the world. And what was there not to love? He lived on a tropical island and got to play with honest-to-god dinosaurs all day long. Well, maybe _play_ was a bit of a stretch, but half the time he didn't bother going into semantics. He got to play with dinosaurs. For money.

And then there were days when he wanted to toss the clicker into the ocean and throw himself into their paddock. Contrary to popular belief, his animals weren't dumb killing machines programed to follow the orders. They were living beings with moods and personalities, and just like everyone else, they had their good and bad days, sometime playful and obedient, other times – grumpy and impossible to deal with.

Today was more of a bad day, which only added to Owen's overall frustration. A few days ago, they went through their whole routine without a hitch, and yet today it was one bump after another and a great deal of snapping teeth and low growls.

"Charlie!" Owen barked from his position on the catwalk above the paddock, glaring at the four raptors below him. "Don't give me that shit!"

She ignored him – the way he almost expected she would. Standing in front of her, the Beta of the pack that went by the name Blue, seemingly wasn't aware of Owen's presence altogether, her nostrils twitching as she tried to smell whatever animal they were about to release into the cage.

"Owen!" A familiar voice boomed over the paddock, and when Owen turned around, he saw Vic Hoskins step onto the catwalk, the attention of the raptors scattering instantly. If they were barely into the session before, they sure couldn't care less about it now. He swore quietly under his breath. "Got a minute?"

Owen squinted in the bright sunlight and wiped beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Now?"

Hoskins walked over to him and leaned against the railing, watching the animals below. If he heard exasperation in Owen's voice, he chose to ignore it, which made Owen frown – the man knew better than anyone what a big deal this project was, and for all his flaws, he also was the one who wanted it to succeed, constantly pestering Owen about the progress and estimated time frames and other crap like that.

"What can I do for you?" Owen asked, putting the clicker into the pocket of his pants, hoping that maybe he'd have a better luck after lunch. There was a chance the girls would be in a better mood after the feeding. Not necessarily, but he didn't want to write this whole day off just yet.

"You did a damn good job here," Hoskins jerked his chin toward the raptors. "It would be a shame to have it amount to nothing."

"What are you talking about?"

Hoskins straightened up. "Look, Owen, I don't care if you send your progress reports late, but your personal paperwork?" He made a dramatic pause and shook his head. "HR said your visa application had been denied."

Owen's stomach clenched. This was the last thing he expected to hear, his mind instantly jumping to the day a few weeks ago when he filled in and signed everything he needed to fill in and sign. "But I sent in everything," he protested as if it was Hoskins who made the decision.

"Yeah, well…" Hoskins rubbed his chin. "They said something about late submission and processing times… You should really talk to them."

Owen swallowed uneasily, feeling nauseated. "What does it all mean?"

The other man was looking at him with a mixture of pity and a slight disdain now, like he couldn't believe that for all Owen's talk about the raptors, he couldn't be bothered to make sure he stayed with the program long enough to see it actually go somewhere.

"It means you're being deported."

xoox

"But there's got to be some other way," Claire Dearing exclaimed, her voice panicked – something she almost never allowed the world to hear, let alone her any of her supervisors.

Simon Masrani, the CEO of Masrani Global, the owner of Jurassic World, and her direct executive, shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, Claire. They want all or nothing."

"But…" She leaped up from her leather chair and started pacing around her office, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "The Indominus Rex project is huge," she turned to him, feeling helpless and two feet tall. "As soon as we launch it, the profit will be monumental. You saw the figures."

Sitting in the visitor's chair, Simon tapped his fingers on Claire's desk, his forehead creased pensively. There was an almost visible cloud over his head, and even before he spilled the news on Claire, outlining every detail he was aware of, she knew he had already given up, and was expecting her to as well.

She hated feeling like this in front of her boss – she was goddamn responsible for this whole park! It was her _job_ to make it work no matter what, and yet here they were, and the news he just broke to her all but knocked the ground from beneath Claire's feet, making her feel like he'd pushed her out of an airplane without a parachute.

"I doesn't matter what I saw," he breathed out at last. "They want the raptors, and so long as I can show the results, they'll pay for the I-Rex. And with Owen Grady leaving-"

"We'll just find someone else then," Claire exclaimed, her hackles standing on end at the mention of the man's name. "Surely there's got to be someone…"

"There isn't, apparently." Simon leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees as he watched her zip back and forth in front of a floor-to-ceiling window below which the park was thriving, packed with thousands of people, wringing her fingers. "It's not a gift-shop cashier we're talking about, Claire. The person must have the basic knowledge of the animal behavioral patters-"

Claire stopped abruptly and turned to him. "Okay, that describes half of the staff here. We can train someone, right?"

He heaved a weary sigh. "Not in the provided timeframe, we can't."

The Indominus-Rex was the first hybrid Claire was solely responsible for, her chance to prove that she could do more than simply parade the investors around the park and order toys and t-shirts for the souvenir stores. It could not only become a stepping stone in her career – it could launch it straight to the moon. And now Simon Masrani was seriously telling her that because some raptor trainer failed to meet a paperwork deadline, they would have to scrap it? Hell, no!

She didn't know what the investor wanted with the raptors and didn't care, but she was not going to let it get in her way, even if she had to teach them to jump through fire hoops herself. What she did know was that she had no time to come up with a new campaign and search for new resources. She really, really needed to hook this one, and she was not going to let someone like Owen Grady stop her.

How do you even miss this kind of a deadline, for heaven's sake?!

"I'll see what I can do," she said at last, finally feeling more composed. There's got to be a way to fix it, she decided. There _always_ was a way. "I'm sure we'll figure something out."

Simon offered her a weak smile that didn't touch his eyes, and Claire knew that even though he appreciate her enthusiasm – it was the one of the things that made him hire her all those years ago, her ambition and confidence about making the park work – he was also not going to blindly trust her to fix the things that couldn't be fixed. He was as excited about the I-Rex project as she was – probably for different reasons, but it didn't matter to Claire, and it pained him to see it being washed down the drain, especially now that there was not one, but two eggs waiting to hatch in the lab below the Innovation Center.

It was incredible, really. Five years ago, when she only started here, people were storming the walls of the park, hungry for a glimpse at a Triceratops. Now, she doubted that anything less than a T-Rex riding a bike on tightrope would catch their attention for more than five seconds. Hence the need for something bigger, louder, scarier, with more teeth. If her calculations were correct, they could open the project for public in about eighteen months from now, and with the right marketing campaign, their profit would skyrocket in a matter of weeks.

She was not going to give up on that.

"Well," Simon rose to his feet. "Keep me posted."

He looked and sounded defiant, and as soon as the door closed behind him, Claire's shoulders slouched too and she sighed and rubbed her forehead. Okay, now what? The man she needed to make her dream come true was being deported in a matter of days. She was not the government of the United States, for Crist's sake! She could not order him to stay, or offer him more money, or—

She might have to talk to the lawyers, she decided in the end. And she would have to talk to Owen Grady.

"Cancel everything scheduled for this afternoon, please," Claire said to her assistant, Zara, as she walked out of her office, a phone in one hand and car keys in another. Zara's eyebrows arched in surprise, but she simply nodded, watching Claire head for the elevators.

xoox

"No, mom, I can't-" Owen let out a long sigh and squeezed his eyes, waiting for the break in his mother's tirade to maybe try and explain everything to her. "I can't come home yet, I need to wrap up something here first."

A phone pressed to his ear with his shoulder, he pulled one of the drawers open and then simply dumped its contents on his bed, half intended to simply throw most of the stuff in the trash and save himself the trouble of hauling it back to Toronto. It wasn't like they didn't have shirts and underwear in Canada.

"I know it's your anniversary and I swear I'm not trying to-" He paused when his mother interjected again. "You're doing _what_?" He paused. "No, wait, here? You're coming _here_ here? To the park? _My_ park?"

Someone knocked on the door, and for a moment, Owen was convinced he was trapped in some sort of a very elaborate hell. Between his impending deportation – two weeks, the HR told him, unless he finds a way to 'magically fix it' (their words, not his), the fact that his mother just told him she and his father decided to celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary on Isla Nublar, and someone fucking _pounding_ on his door, it sure felt that way.

"Hey, can I call you back?... Yes, sure. I'll meet you at the ferry terminal."

He hung up at last and tossed his phone onto the bed before crossing his living room in two quick strides before whoever was on the other side of the door broke it down and yanked it open, expecting to see maybe Barry who caught the wind of the news. Or maybe Hoskins. Or that jittery dude from HR who promised to start working on Owen's 'resignation' paperwork.

The idea made him cringe. It wasn't like he was an illegal immigrant, for crying out loud!

Instead, he saw a very pissed off Claire Dearing.

Squeezed into a straight pencil skirt, two-inch heels on her feet and the bob of her bright-red hair so sharp he was surprised it didn't leave cuts on her cheeks, she was glaring daggers at him, her red lips pursed into a tight line, and her brows furrowed. Caught off guard momentarily, he gave a long studious once-over, half convinced it was the heat playing tricks on his mind. There was no reason in the world for her to be here, certainly not looking the way Blue did when was was hungry and cranky and dreamed of going for Owen's jugular.

Owen allowed his lips to curve into a lopsided smile as he leaned against the doorframe. "Wow. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"What were you thinking?" Claire snapped, squeezing past him into the bungalow, her nose wrinkled at the sight of his stuff strewn all over the place.

After the HR broke the news to him, stressing the fact that there was _nothing_ that could be done, and that he needed to leave the country and to reapply for the work permit after several months, and so on, and so forth, he kind of decided there was no reason to put off packing for much longer. Besides, it didn't seem like there was anything else for him to do. What was the freaking point of working with the raptors if he'd be gone within a couple of weeks anyway?

"Pardon me?" He followed her with his gaze, choosing to leave the door ajar.

Claire turned on her heel, hands on her hips. "Who forgets to file the work permit application on time?" She all but growled.

"If I knew you'd be so heartbroken, I'd make sure not to miss it," Owen hummed and grabbed a stack of books from the shelf to arrange them in two boxes that already housed a few magazines and his laughable collection of DVDs.

"Not funny." She glowered down at him. "You do understand the consequences of your recklessness, Mr. Grady, don't you?"

He looked up at her. "Owen," he said slowly. For heaven's sake, they went out on a date. She might cut down on formalities after basically calling him an ass to his face. "And yes, thank you. I do."

"I don't think so," Claire huffed with a roll of her eyes.

Owen rose to his feet again. "Yes, please, explain to me what I do and don't get," he snorted, wondering if it was too early to start with the kitchen. He could probably leave a plate or two, or maybe he could simply live off beer. "And what's in it for you anyway?" He thought to ask at last. "You, of all people, should be happy I'm getting kicked off the island, _Claire_."

Her scowl deepened, either because of his implication that she was supposed to care about him in one way or another, or because he pointedly used her name when she refused to say his.

"Believe it or not, but this park is a system and each part of it is as crucial as another," Claire declared.

He gaped at her for a moment or two. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think is going to happen to your precious raptors the moment you leave, _Mr. Grady_?" She folded her arms over her chest.

That caught Owen's attention alright, his brows knitting together. Oh, he knew what was going to happen – they'd become an attraction. Someone – probably Hoskins – would try to show them off, forcing them to follow the commends Owen had taught them. Not that it mattered, though. People were fascinated with the animals as vicious and smart and deadly as Velociraptors. There'd be no shortage of interest, whether or not they were doing circus tricks.

He hated the idea of it anyway.

"Why do you care about the raptors?" He asked, his eyes narrowed.

"Because if your program gets scrapped, so will mine." Claire admitted. "It's like I said, this place is a system-"

"And what do you want from me?" He interrupted.

"The park needs _you_ to have the Velociraptors project running," she said, and his eyebrows cocked in surprise. "I know, I know, it's what I said. You're hardly irreplaceable. But apparently not on a short notice."

Owen chuckled. "God, this is the nicest thing I've ever heard from you."

Claire leveled him with a heavy look. "There has to be a way to have you stay."

"Well, there isn't. Not to my knowledge." He shrugged even though this pretend nonchalance hurt. If there was a way, he'd already be sinking his teeth into it. "So unless you want to adopt me, I'll probably be back in six months."

He walked around her.

"We don't have six months." Claire followed him, stopping in the doorway to his bedroom that looked like a tornado swept through it. There were clothes everywhere, as well as a suitcase, a duffel bag, and a few boxes. "Can't you, I don't know… marry someone?"

Owen snapped his head up. "Can't I do _what_?"

"There must be a woman in the continental US who can bear dealing with your-" Claire looked him up and down critically "—wits and wardrobe choices," she finished. "Maybe there's even one on this island."

He straightened up. "You're kidding me, right?"

"I'm not saying it has to be real," she added quickly, a hope in her voice.

"Still thank you, but no, thank you." He turned his back to her and reached for a pile of folded shirts he then deposited into one of the boxes. "Now, if you'll excuse me… My parents are coming over for a visit and I gotta-"

"Marry me," Claire blurted out.

He froze, and then turned to her slowly, uncertain if he heard her right. "What did you say?"

"Marry me," she repeated firmer, her face pinched like she'd bitten into a lemon. "You'll get to stay and do whatever it is you're doing here, I'll get my funding. Everyone is happy! After the appropriate period of time we'll get a divorce and pretend it never happened."

"This… is the most romantic thing I've ever heard," Owen scoffed, pushing his hair from his forehead. Maybe he could turn on the fan or something. His house came without air-conditioning, and even though it didn't bother him most of the time, there was days when he wanted to crawl into a freezer until the weather broke, making it easier to breathe again.

"I'm serious," Claire told him. "What's the big deal? Are you saving yourself for someone special?"

"I'd love to think so," he retorted. "Besides, what you just described is a federal offence."

She sneered. "So you'll just _forget_ about two years of your work because of some technicality?"

Owen dropped the act and turned to her again. "You really _are_ serious, aren't you?"

"Of course, I am serious. My career is on the line. Why would I be joking about it?" She threw her hands up.

"Okay." He approached her slowly, sizing her up with his gaze, a part of him still waiting for her to start laughing and tell him it was a joke. She didn't. "Since I'm facing some serious criminal charges here-"

Claire cocked her head to her shoulder. "You do understand that I'm the one who's doing _you_ a favour, right? If anyone's going to deal with repercussions here, it'll probably be me."

"Still." Standing not even a foot away from her now, Owen allowed his gaze to travel along her body as he tried oh so hard not to notice everything that drew him to this woman in the first place. She smelled faintly of vanilla and jasmine, and it felt oddly out of place in his house. Everything about Claire Dearing felt out of place here, and he hated knowing it, and even more than that – he hated knowing that she knew it, too. Even on his turf, she seemed to be having an upper hand, and it was infuriating, to put it mildly. "I want you to ask me nicely."

"Ask you what?"

He added some wattage to his smile. "Ask me to marry you, Claire."

Her lips curved into a cold smile. "We're meeting the migration officer tomorrow."

Owen shrugged and stepped back. "Nope. I don't feel like you mean it."

"Oh, for Crist's Sake, Owen!"

"Owen?" He echoed. "Wow, that's a… that should go into our vows, or something."

She huffed through her nose and rubbed her forehead in frustration, the desire to set him and his house on fire so evident in her eyes it would've been scary if it wasn't so funny.

"Fine," Claire spat at last, then took a steadying breath. " _Owen_ , dearest Owen, would you _please_ kindly do me an honour of becoming my husband?"

He arched an eyebrow. "How about one more time, and with feeling?"

"You know what? Go to hell!" She turned around and headed for the door. "Enough feeling for you?"

Owen swore under his breath and tripped over a gym bag he left on the floor in his haste to catch up with her. "Wait! Claire, wait a second."

"What?" She turned to him, her lips pressed together into a thin line.

He exhaled sharply, hating the idea of teaming up with her, but thinking about having his raptors do party tricks after all the time and effort he'd put into making them more than just an attraction was like having someone stab him in the heart and twist the knife for good measure.

"You really think it can fix anything?"

Claire lifted her chin. "The ferry leaves at 8. Don't be late."

xoox

The first text came about 10 minutes after she left.

 _Seriously, man?!_ Owen could _feel_ Barry's eyes pop out of his head. _With HER?!_

 _You dog, Grady!_ Greg, his drinking buddy from the paddock sent shortly afterwards.

 _Speak of selling your soul to the devil lol_

After the 5th one, Owen stopped reading. He pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan, wondering how Claire managed to set the gossip mill running so fast. It wasn't until this moment that he sort of hoped they'd breeze through the whole thing unnoticed by anyone. This? This was the opposite of that. Like working with her was not bad enough – no, apparently he also needed to shout about their fake engagement from the rooftops.

Annoyed, he tossed his phone aside and sank heavily onto the couch, overcome with conflicted feelings. If this worked, really worked, he wasn't going to leave the raptors to the mercy of hungry park crowds. All things considered, he loved his job. Hell, it was the best gig he'd ever had in his life. But the plan was in motion for half an hour, at most, and he was already sick to his stomach over the idea of carrying on with the rest of it.

What was it that this woman valued so much that she was willing to join forces with him, of all people, even though she'd never bothered to hide her contempt? Well, not after their date at least.

His phone chirped again, and Owen angrily stuffed it between the couch cushions.

xoox

"So, Mr. Grady," Nathan Hendricks, an immigration officer assigned to their case, started as his gaze darted between Claire and Owen sitting in hard plastic chairs across from him. He was in his mid 40's, with thin-rimmed glasses perched on the tip of his nose, and trained to see right through bullshit – that much Owen could feel with his skin, "is there anything I need to know before we proceed?"

Owen shifted uncomfortably in his chair, acutely aware of the fact that his poor attempt at a smile probably looked more like a grimace. Not to mention that the small office in the US embassy in San Jose was hot and stuffy as hell, making him feel suffocated, especially in a suit Claire insisted he wore to the meeting.

"Nope. Just here to apply for the fiancé visa." He flashed that very same grimace at Claire who nearly flinched at the sight of it. "With my… um, honey."

Claire reached for his hand and squeezed it, although it was hard to tell if she was trying to be encouraging, or simply wanted him to shut up. He did the latter anyway and beamed at Agent Hendricks instead.

The man pushed the glasses further up his nose and flipped through the manila folder lying before him on the cluttered desk, the crease between his eyebrows deepening with every second, and Owen felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back.

"Mr. Grady, it says here," the agent tapped his pen on the page before him, "that your work visa had been denied recently." He peered at Owen over the rims of his glasses. "Is this," he pointed his pen in Claire's direction, "your attempt to stay in the country?"

"No!" Claire assured him quickly, her smile widening by the second. "Not at all. Why would you even…" She cleared her throat and glanced quickly at Owen. "Owen and I are just… victims of circumstances. We're two people who were not meant to fall in love-"

"Because if it is," Hendricks interrupted her, "and I find out about it, you, Mr. Grady, will be deported from the United States of America indefinitely. And you, Ms. Dearing, will be subjected to a fine and a time in federal prison." He made a theatrical pause, his gaze shifting from one to another if he expected them to spontaneously combust under his scrutiny. "Shall we proceed?"

Claire nodded, and he sighed.

xoox

"He wasn't serious about the prison, was he?" Claire asked, flipping through the folder of the interview questions Agent Hendricks gave them as they stood on the upper deck of the ferry taking them back to the island, the breeze ruffling her hair and the paged in her hands.

"Sure he wasn't." Leaning on the railing next to her, Owen was looking at the horizon and the growing form of the island, its hills rolling in gentle slopes before his eyes, so bright-green it was hard to believe they were real. "It's what they do in official government institutions – joke around."

Claire gave him a dirty look and stuck her nose back in the folder.

Agent Hendricks explained to them that they would be invited to an interview, each of them asked a number of questions regarding everything a real couple would know the answers to about one another, and if their answers didn't match, point for point, Owen would never step on the American soil again, and Claire would have to start a new career – sometime after her time behind the bars.

On top of that, Agent Hendricks was going to check their phone records, talk to their families and colleagues, and dig as deep into their relationship as humanly possible without getting into bed with them.

The thought made her cringe.

And if that wasn't fun enough, Owen's parents were coming here for a week, so not only would they have to carry on with this charade in front of the employees of the park, but they would also have to convince his _family_ that they were an item. Just thinking about it was giving her a massive headache.

"This is ridiculous," Claire muttered under her breath, turning the page. "Are we supposed to know all of this about each other?"

He snatched the folder from her hands. "Let me see." His eyes skimmed over the page. "Piece of cake."

She frowned. "You cannot know all of this about me."

"Please!" He scoffed. "Everyone knows all of this about you, Claire. This whole island is all about you."

"Don't be absurd." She reclaimed the folder again. "Okay, let's see… Where I was born?"

"Madison, Wisconsin," Owen responded promptly.

"Do I have any siblings?"

"Older sister. Two kids and a rocky marriage."

She glowered at him, puckering her lips. "There's got to be something here… Whose place do we stay at yours or mine? Mine, obviously."

"And why wouldn't we stay at mine?" Owen demanded.

"Because I live in the penthouse at the Hilton, and no one would _ever_ believe I'd voluntarily stay for more than five minutes in your unsanitary bungalow." Claire snorted. "Oh, this is a good one. Do I have any birthmarks?" She stared at him expectantly.

Owen studied her for a long moment. "No, but you do have a tattoo on the small of your back."

Her jaw dropped. "How do you…"

"Last year at the Christmas party? You were wearing that dress with an open back that ended just below… What is it? I didn't get a good look. It was something angular, like a Celtic Cross?"

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" She regarded him darkly.

"You have no idea," Owen drawled. "Come on, tell me. I gotta know."

"Forget about it," she muttered and closed the folder, tucking it under her arm and straightening her hair that flew right back into her face the very next second.

"I might have to see it, too," he suggested.

Clair smiled sweetly at him. "Don't make me hurt you."

Owen stepped toward her and wrapped his arm around her waist. "Don't jump into the water… sweetheart," he muttered. "There are people from the park here. Might as well start pretending this farce has some substance to it."

She glanced around surreptitiously, noticing that there were, in fact, several of the employees on the deck, strikingly different from the overly excited tourists. Most of them held to the back, no longer losing their minds over the prospect of seeing dinosaurs. Their eyes, however, were on her and Owen, an she felt herself go stiff immediately.

"You might want to relax a little," Owen whispered into her ear. Form this close, she could smell his aftershave on his skin and faint scent of laundry detergent from his clothes, and the warmth of his body made her shiver despite the head of the day.

"If you touch my ass one more time, I'll feed you to something and make it look like an accident," she whispered back. "Dear."

"See?" He turned to her, his face not even an inch away from hers and his blue eyes glinting with amusement. "You can be nice."

xoox

"Why am I doing this, again?" Claire asked for the tenth time, sipping her coffee as she stifled another yawn. The morning was cool and fresh, unlike so many of them that started with a blast of humid heat, threatening to squish her under its force. "I already arranged their stay at the hotel."

For whatever reason, he called her last night as asked her to come meet his parents at the ferry terminal in the morning. Distracted by the budget reports she was only halfway through and desperate to get it over with before sunrise, Claire said yes just to get him off her back. It was only later that it occurred to her that it was a monumental waste of time – certainly the one she couldn't afford. For all she cared, all she needed to do was memorize a few facts about him, not immerse herself deeply into his life.

Besides, now that the funding was practically in her pocket, she could actually greenlight the building of a new paddock. Dr. Wu told her that the Indominus Rex would be bigger than the T-rex when fully grown, and they didn't have suitable facilities on the island. And this was a complicated process – the paddock needed to be approved by the ACU first, then she needed to hire the contracts, order the materials, make sure the project was complete within established period of time.

The animals were expected to hatch in a few weeks. It would take them several weeks to a couple of months to grow enough to survive on their own. It wasn't that long a time, Claire was beginning to think now. And even though the blueprints of the new paddock were already sent to the ACU, she was starting to get anxious.

"Well," hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, Owen was peering at the water stretching before them, waiting for the ferry to appear in the harbour, "it wouldn't hurt you to make a good first impression on your future in-laws."

He was surprisingly upbeat for this early hour, which only added to Claire's annoyance. He certainly didn't stay up until midnight poring over the budget figures.

"Owen?" Someone called from behind them, and he and Claire turned at the same time to see a slender dark-haired woman approach them, a smile on her face.

"Danni!" He beamed and gave her a quick, and if a little awkward, one-armed hug. "I… um, haven't seen you in a while."

"Well, you know me," she shrugged, and then her eyes darted toward Claire.

"Oh… this is Claire-" He began, as if only now remembering she was there.

"I'm aware," the girl nodded.

"Claire, this is Danielle."

"From the Petting Zoo, right?" Claire shook the other woman's hand.

"You got me," she smiled, then glanced at Owen. "I'm hearing the congratulations are in order?"

He shuffled toward Claire and threw his arm around her shoulders, and the fact that this gesture lacked the easy familiarity with which he treated the Petting Zoo girl didn't escape Claire's attention, making her stomach twist for some reason.

"I guess you could say that," he confirmed.

"Congratulations, then." Her eyes lingered on Owen for just a second longer. And then she looked past them. "And there's the ferry. I gotta go, I'm picking up—I gotta go."

"You could've married her," Claire muttered when Owen dropped his arm and stepped away from her almost instantly.

"No, I couldn't." His lips twisted a little. "Why would I do it to her? I actually like her."

Claire rolled her eyes, a quip rolling on the tip of her tongue, but this was when a crowd of newcomers spilled off the ferry, loud and noisy and seemingly everywhere at once, and before she could so much as blink, there was a couple in their mid-60's hugging and kissing Owen, talking over one another.

Elaine Grady was a small woman with a bright, sunny smile, her hair deep auburn-red. She was ah-ing and oh-ing like she hadn't seen her son in a century, hugging him every few seconds, while her husband, Jack, clapped him on the back in all the moments in-between. Almost as tall and broad in the shoulders, he certainly made it clear who Owen got his looks from, their eyes identical blue, their smiles mirroring each other's.

And then all three of them turned to Claire who was beginning to feel like she'd crashed someone's private party, inferior and so out of place she'd much rather jump off the dock than observe their hearty greetings for another minute.

"Mom, dad, this is Claire," Owen introduced her. "My fiancé."

There was a long pause during which Jack's eyebrows crept all the way to his hairline. "The itinerary girl?" He asked, although it was hard to tell whether he was addressing her or his son.

Claire gave Owen a pained look. _You told him? You told your FATHER about that date?_

And he was looking away, and hiding his smile, and fumbling with his parents' luggage while she shook hands with them, not bothering to interrupt the flow of news they were pouring on both of them about the people Claire had never heard of. It was an endearing thing to witness, she had to admit that much. And also nerve-wrecking, making her wonder why did it all have to happen _this_ weekend.

"Where are you going?" Claire demanded when Owen turned off the main road and headed deeper into the island and away from the resort.

"Don't worry, dear," Elaine called from the backseat of his jeep. "Owen told us you booked the room for us, but we wouldn't want to trouble you. We'll just stay with you two."

Claire turned around, the belt digging uncomfortably into her chest.

" _Us_ two?" She asked dumbly.

Jack waved his hand. "The more the merrier," he announced. "Plus, we'll get to know you better."

"But I actually-" Claire began – _live in a 1,400 . penthouse with a Jacuzzi_.

"Don't mind at all," Owen finished for her, his eyes on the bumpy mud road. "She doesn't, dad. Right, honey-bun?"

Claire glared at him and turned away to look at the green blur of trees outside her window, fuming. One weekend, she reminded herself. One weekend to be convincing enough to sell this stuff during their interview on Monday, and then they'd sign the papers and never talk to one another until it was time to get a divorce. She could do it. It was just for three days.

"I am not staying here for the weekend, Owen," she hissed when he parked by his bungalow and his parents spilled out of the car.

He leaned closer to her over the console. "It was your idea, Claire!" He hissed back. "My parents want to stay here. It's their goddamn anniversary, I'm not going to force them to stay at the resort if they don't want to." He breathed out through his nose and rubbed his eyes. "You want to sell this nonsense to anyone? Start acting like it."

Her eyes narrowed. "I am not staying here," she repeated firmly.

 **To be continued...**

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, I hope this is fun! Let me know what you think :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** Thank you for the wonderful response to the first chapter, guys. It means the world to me! Sorry it took me a while to update. Life got in the way :)

Dig in!

* * *

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," Claire muttered, staring down her nose at a pullout couch in Owen's living room and mismatched bedding piled on top of it.

She fully intended to stay around for as long as necessary to make a decent impression on his parents, should Agent Hendricks sink his claws into them, and then make a hasty escape. For one thing, she needed to go back to work. Also, she really, really didn't want to be a part of the Grady Bunch family reunion for more than strictly necessary. They were warm and kind and welcoming, and it was scaring the living hell out of her.

Except, five minutes into showing them around the house – all two rooms, plus the bathroom – it was somehow decided that she would come over for dinner. Because that was what fiancés were expected to do, especially when they were meeting the parents of their loved ones. There hardly seemed to be a way to get out of this one.

How she ended up in the kitchen, helping Elaine with dinner – despite Owen's protests and a generous suggestion to 'whip something up real quick' – she had no idea. Just thinking about the last time she actually cooked something that didn't come pre-packed and frozen was giving Claire a headache. That, and the avalanche of information that all but swept her off her feet. In roughly 10 minutes, she had learned more about Owen Grady than she did in all the months of knowing him, and it was disconcerting.

Did Claire know he played in a marching band in middle school? Hell, no! Did she know he once camped outside a movie theater for 20 hours for the _Star Wars_ re-release event? No, and she didn't want to. Was she aware he wanted to be a marine biologist before the NAVY happened? Well, she was now.

And afterwards, before Jack and Elaine said their goodnights and headed to Owen's bedroom, they apologized for inconveniencing _the two of them_ by forcing them to sleep on the couch.

That was when Claire stopped thinking.

Owen threw a pillow at her from across the room. "Get comfy, _baby_."

"I'm not sleeping here," she tossed the pillow back to him, hitting him in the face. The whole notion was so beyond ridiculous, it was almost laughable. She was 15 minutes away from her suite and an hour in a Jacuzzi, and Owen seriously wanted her to stay _in his bungalow_?

"A little louder, Claire. That guy selling Jurassic World t-shirts at the gift shop didn't hear you."

She glared at him, then swept the room with a long, more studious look. He returned the books back on the shelves. There was a stack of video games near the TV set and some knickknacks here and there, mostly dinosaur-related, like molds of claws and plastic skulls that somehow didn't look as creepy as she'd expect them to, considering they were _skulls_. All in all, it looked neat. Cozy even.

"Why on earth would I—"

"Because it's what people do when they're deeply in love, or whatever," Owen pointed out. "I'm about as happy as you are, Claire, but you wanted it to look real, didn't you?"

It wasn't even that he expected her to sleep not only in his house but also in his bed, but the fact that he was so damn _reasonable_ about the whole situation that set her teeth on edge more than anything else. He was right, after all, it _was_ her plan. And yes, she could just as easily go back to her apartment and it wouldn't make much difference. But what if it would?

"I can't sleep in my suit," she said at last, knowing that they could spend the next thirty minutes arguing about this, but in the end she was going to say yes anyway, so they could do that, or she could save them both a lot of trouble by not making it any more difficult than it already was.

Owen nodded. "I'll find something for you."

This was like her ultimate nightmare, Claire decided when she changed into his boxers and a faded t-shirt that hung loosely on her frame, her face in the mirror over the sink in the bathroom pale and stern. The shower in the bungalow was small and cramped, and there obviously was no air-conditioning, and she was oh so tempted to drag Owen's parents back to the park _because who chooses this over a 5-star hotel_?! Jesus… It was a miracle he had a running water in this…. shack.

"If you so much as touch me…" she started, slipping under the thin blanket while Owen was turning off the lights in the kitchen and locking the front door. (Like anyone would want to break in, ha!)

"I'll set myself on fire," he promised her immediately.

"I mean it," Claire scowled at him.

He plopped down on top of the covers and stretched, his eyes closed. "You have got to stop flattering yourself, _Ms. Dearing_ ," he breathed out.

"Charming," Claire noted and leaned against the back of the couch, pulling her knees to her chest and reaching for the questionnaire she brought with her. Three more days to learn everything there was to learn about Owen Grady, and she was not going to waste any time.

They already covered the basics while they were waiting for the ferry earlier today. Born and raised in Ontario, in a small town outside of Toronto. Joined Royal Canadian NAVY to see the world, spent eight years with them before Masrani Global contacted him after his sea-lion training program received a couple of achievement awards. His birthday was in July and his favourite color was blue and he preferred coffee over tea. He was the middle child and had two brothers, and the one food he apparently could never get sick of was a deep-dish homemade pizza. No allergies.

That was easy enough.

"Okay," Claire started, skimming the questions with her gaze. "When and how did you propose?"

"Technically, you did," Owen opened one eye to peek at her.

She gave him an annoyed look. "You want me to mention how I _begged_ you to marry me? Sure, that would fix everything."

Owen threw his arm over his eyes. "Let's tell them this. One evening, we packed a picnic basket – wine and crackers and stuff. Personally, I'd prefer beer and chips, but you're classier than that, so, we did the wine thing and then we took my bike and drove to the south-west cliffs. Ever been there?"

"No," Claire shook her head. There was a chance there was no reception there.

"There's a place up there where you can see the park on one side and the ocean on the other," he explained. "And if you go there at sunset, it's usually already dark at the resort because it's sort of nestled between the hills, but you can still see the sun over the water. So, below you, the park is all lit up, and then there's also this orange sunset… Looks kind of like one of those surrealistic paintings where day merges into night. That sort of thing." He trailed off. "Let's pretend I proposed there."

Claire stayed quiet after that, the tip of her pencil hovering over the page, feeling like he just sucker-punched her. Five minutes ago, she would've bet both of her kidneys on Owen Grady not having a single romantic bone in his body, and now she couldn't shake the image painted by him out of her mind.

At last, after some time had passed, Owen looked up at her again. "What? Is it not good? Lemme think of something else-"

"No," she said quickly and scribbled some notes in the margins of the questionnaire, her throat suddenly tight. "It is good." The lines were dancing before her eyes because her fingers were trembling, and Claire closed the folder hastily. "I guess we're good for tonight," she announced, pointedly not looking at him, and dropped the file on the floor by the couch before sliding down to rest her head on the pillow and turning her back to him. "Good night, Mr. Grady."

He turned off the lights without another word and for a few long minutes, Claire could feel the bumpy mattress move beneath her as he settled on his side of the pullout before finally letting out a long, relaxed breath. And then the only sounds were his soft inhales and exhales, and the chirping of crickets outside.

Claire was not used to this kind of near complete silence – at the resort, she could almost always hear the cafes on Main Street open until way past midnight, the voices and laughter of the guests outside or in the corridors of the hotel, the AC system pushing cold air through the vents. There was light too – her suite never was completely dark at night. Here, it felt like she was sleeping on the ground in the middle of the jungle, the sounds of the forest spilling through the open windows, wrapping her in a blanket of warm air that smelled of palm trees and wet soil.

Moreover, she was definitely not used to falling asleep next to anything that breathed right behind her back, whose warmth she could feel with her skin even from a couple of feet away. And it wasn't just that – she could feel his goddamn _presence_ , and the realization left Claire more than a little unnerved.

Her mind screamed _Danger_ , and she was tempted to roll around because having her back to him felt foolish, but the idea of trying to get some rest _facing_ Owen was more than she could handle. So, she drew her knees closer to her chest and tried to ignore the fact that his clothes felt soft against her skin and more comfortable than she was willing to admit even to herself.

"What are you trying to save?" Owen asked her a few minutes later when Claire already started to believe that he'd dozed off.

"What?" She croaked, startled.

"The funding. This whole thing we're doing. What's it for?"

She bit her lip, unprepared for this question. "Something Mr. Masrani wants to give a try," she responded vaguely. "A new project."

"Okay, but what's in it for _you_?" He pressed.

"Much like you, I also care about what I'm doing here," Claire said softly. And then added, surprising herself, "I can't believe you told your father about our date."

"I didn't," Owen countered. "I told my brother."

"Wonderful. Your whole family knows…" If this was real, she'd be planning to bury him alive by now, Claire decided. "Did you mention your board shorts as well?"

It was not hard to _hear_ him wince. "Will you drop the board shorts already?"

Her lips curved a little. "Not a chance. Not after you've made me 'the itinerary girl' for the rest of my life."

He laughed but didn't say anything else, and before she knew it, Owen's breathing grew deep and relaxed, and then her own eyelids became lead-heavy, and she slipped into a dreamless sleep, soothed by the sounds of nature surrounding the bungalow.

xoox

The first thing Claire Dearing realized upon waking up was that this was not her bed. Nothing she ever owned – not even in college! - was this lumpy and uneven and uncomfortable, and none of it ever smelled of Old Spice and too much laundry detergent. _Cheap_ laundry detergent.

Still, her eyes felt sandy and her mind fuzzy, and so she buried her face deeper into the pillow, determined to snag a few more precious moments of rest, willing her mind to go back to whatever slumber it so mercilessly drifted out of.

"Rise and shine, babe!"

Something big and heavy and loud plopped down near her, almost crushing Claire's legs and practically catapulting her into the air. And just like that, the memories of the last night came rushing back in. Owen Grady, his goddamn couch, his parents.

Her meeting!

Crap!

Claire's eyes flew open in an instant, her hand reaching automatically for her phone lying on the armrest of the pullout. The screen read: 9.03 AM.

"What happened to my alarm?" She demanded, finally turning to Owen only to find him sitting by her side wearing nothing but a bath towel wrapped around his hips, beads of water glistening on his broad tanned chest lined with a few pale scars here and there, his hair wet after the shower and slicked back, curling at the ends. Claire's eyes widened. "Why are you… like _this_?"

"See anything you like?" Owen asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Get off my legs," she hissed, ignoring the heat rising up her cheeks and hoping it could be easily written off to her anger, which was very, very real. Definitely more real than… that other thing. "What did you do to my alarm?"

"It kept beeping, I turned it off," he snorted. "You're welcome."

" _Welcome_?" Claire kicked him in the butt and he finally stood up, allowing her to toss away the covers and sit up, her fingers scrolling feverishly through the missed calls and messages that came in in the past half hour. "Crap," she muttered, her eyes now darting wildly around the san-bathed room. "I can still make it…"

Towering over her – in his towel, goddammit! – Owen was watching her curiously. "Mom made pancakes for breakfast. You want some?"

Claire snapped her head up and glared at him, trying oh so hard not to notice taut muscles of his body and chiseled lines of his shoulders and a 'landing strip' of hair running from his sternum down to his—

"Pancakes?" She echoed, incredulous. "I swear to god, Owen, if I miss this meeting, I'll murder you in your sleep."

"Relax," he shook his head. "I told Zara to push it to 10. I'll drive you. You'll make it."

" _You_ told _Zara_?" Her jaw dropped, her eyes popping out of her head. "What gives you the right-"

"Oh, you're up!" Elaine poked her head into the living room, an apron around her waist and a spatula in her hand. Seeing the whole scene through her eyes – Owen practically half-naked and her sitting on the bed in his clothes – made Claire's face turn crimson. "Pancakes, honey?"

The question was clearly addressed to Claire, who found herself at a loss for words, opening and closing her mouth like a fish in a tank.

"We're good, mom," Owen interjected. "Claire here is a bit late-"

His mother nodded eagerly. "I'll pack you some to take with you." A bright smile at Claire, and she was gone again.

"This is not happening," Claire murmured, leaping up from the pullout, her mind on fire. She didn't have any spare clothes here, seeing as how she was not supposed to stay overnight, so she would have to go home first and take a shower and get dressed, all in 40-minutes time. Oh god, oh god, oh god….

"You kick in your sleep, by the way," Owen noted, watching her dart around, collecting her clothes.

"I know, it was intentional," Claire informed him. "And put something on, would you?" She rolled her eyes, heading to the bathroom to change. "It's not like we're _really_ sleeping together."

When she reappeared in the living room five minutes later, the pullout was folded into its couch form, the bedding stacked neatly in one corner, and Owen was wearing his usual attire of cargo pants and a button-up shirt, his ever-present leather vest draped over it. He looked up at her, and his eyes darted for a moment to the Tupperware container his mother packed for Claire, and Claire's stomach growled at the thought – and the smell – of freshly made pancakes, which only caused her frown to deepen.

Through the window, she could see Owen's father on the dock, staring at the lagoon before him, one of Owen's fishing rods propped against the lawn chair by his side. For the sake of everyone in this house, she hoped that nothing actually lived in the murky water, but who knew?

Owen grabbed his watch from the coffee table and clasped it around his wrist. "Ready?"

Claire reached for her purse. "You don't need to drive me anywhere. I got my car."

"Yeah, well…" He cleared his throat. "You wanted to make it look believable. What kind of a fiancé would I be-"

"Alive," she grumbled, picking up the Tupperware because accepting it felt like less trouble than refusing to take it. "Thank you, Mrs. Grady!" She called out.

"You're welcome, dear," Elaine beamed at her, appearing in the hallway. "And please, call me Elaine. You're joining us in the afternoon, right?"

"In the-"

"Sure she is," Owen responded promptly, his arm snaking around her waist and squeezing Claire closer to him, and there was only so much she could do before one of her heels ended up digging into his foot. She couldn't do much damage, not through his boots, but he winced nonetheless, and it was better than nothing.

"Oh, I'm sorry, _honey_ ," she turned to him, and dropped her voice. "What's in the afternoon?"

"We're having a walk in the park," he replied.

"A _what_? Owen…"

"Look, as much as I want us both to get through all this with as minimum interaction between us as possible, could you please make an effort? Again, Claire, _your_ idea."

"And this," she swept his house with a wide wave of her arm, "is _not_ making an effort?" He raised an eyebrow at her, and she huffed. "Fine. Pick me up after 4."

The drive to the resort was a quiet one. Owen promised to bring her car back after his morning visit to the paddock to make sure she had a means of transportation. He parked in front of the hotel, the third floor of which was dedicated to the administrative offices, and climbed out into the bright sunny morning after Claire, immediately catching curious glances from a few park employees on the plaza.

"How about a kiss goodbye?"

"How about-" Claire began but he leaned in and brushed his lips to hers, his breath warm on Claire's skin, and her heart did a somersault in her chest.

"Humor me," Owen murmured against her mouth, before kissing her again, properly this time, his tongue tracing the outline of her lips before darting between her teeth.

Her fingers clutched a handful of his shirt, sliding up his chest and around his neck almost on the will of their own. He tasted of toothpaste and warmth and something that was purely Owen, and before she knew it, her head began to swim, the ground beneath her feet shaky somehow. If it wasn't for his hand on the small of her back, her knees would probably give in beneath her.

"See ya at 4," Owen breathed out, pulling back from her, and then he was gone, heading toward the northeast part of the island while Claire stood in the middle of the plaza, staring at the taillights of his car.

xoox

"Well, she's certainly something else," Jack Grady noted, as he and Elaine followed Owen up the stairs to the catwalk over the raptors' paddock.

After the morning feeding and a training session with his girls, Owen swung by the resort where he'd left his parents earlier to watch the Mosasaurs show and have a look at the souvenir shops to take them on a more personalized tour that included a closer look at a few species that he, as an employee of the park, was allowed to interact with, and that finished with a visit to his place of work.

On the way here, he explained his job to them in more detail, diving into the behavioral and eating patterns on the raptors as well as their evolution and general changes the lab had to make to their original genome to ensure their survival in the modern-day climate and environment, once again stressing their intelligence and learning abilities. His mother and father didn't need to know the extent of his project, but there was something about sharing this kind of information with someone who was truly interested instead of simply looking at his animals as margins and profit that made it all seem more worthwhile.

However, the conversation inevitably slipped back to Claire, both of his parents still trying to wrap their minds around the engagement part of their relationship.

"She sure is," he said, stepping onto the catwalk. "Don't lean over the railing. We don't encourage snacks between meals."

"I just wish you'd told us sooner," Elaine said behind him, ignoring his joke. "About the engagement. I didn't even know you were seeing anyone, let alone it being like that."

"Let alone _that_ woman," Jack added good-naturedly, both of them obviously more surprised by the fact that it was Claire than the engagement itself. "I mean, that one time, you sounded like she was a nightmare from hell…"

"Jack!" His wife smacked him on the arm. "Don't listen to your father, honey. Claire is lovely."

"Yeah, that she is. And the engagement-it's… um, a new development," Owen muttered.

He offered them the official story – they'd known each other for a little over a year, started dating roughly six months ago, he popped the question literally this week, and most of it was almost true. They did know each other for about 14 months, they did have a hellish date six months ago, the question was popped by mutual agreement. No one needed to know anything else.

"Still," his dad echoed.

"Didn't want to do it by phone," Owen said. "I mean, when you mentioned you were coming over…" He trailed off. "Okay, look, this one with brown patters on her head is Delta…"

He introduced the rest of the pack, taking his sweet time to go over each raptor individually, and then have them follow a few of the commands. He hated lying to his parents, but thankfully, in a park full of prehistoric _monsters_ , it wasn't that hard to steer their attention elsewhere with a wave of his hand. Luckily, curious in the presence of strangers, the raptors were willing to show off for once, and when Owen wrapped up the show, he could see the concerned wrinkles around his mother's eyes smooth out a little – she'd always been the one who didn't get the whole island thing.

The NAVY she was okay with, it had purpose in her opinion, but living this far away from home because of a bunch of animals? And with Owen's brothers moving across the country, too… He was relieved to see that maybe they wouldn't have to have a _talk_ again this time – the one about quitting and coming back home.

"I think it's time to go get my girl," Owen muttered, checking the time after they'd walked around the paddock twice, the raptors no longer interested in playing with them.

"Are you sure it's okay to pull Claire out of work for camping, honey?" Elaine asked. "She does seem like an awfully important person around here."

"She runs the whole place," Owen nodded proudly, or with what he hoped passed for pride. "But she wouldn't miss it for the world. She _loves_ camping."

"Really?" Jack scratched the back of his head. "I wouldn't have pegged her for the type."

xoox

In the morning, when Owen mentioned 'a walk in the park', casually adding that maybe she should wear something comfortable, Claire assumed his parents wanted to have an expert tour around the resort and maybe an inside look into how Jurassic World operated. She thought they'd stop by a few attractions and she'd share some details about each of them that not even the employees knew, or at least those that weren't normally mentioned to the general public.

She spent her day hearing her name in whispered conversations and it was starting to drive her insane. Yes, she expected it to be like this but it still unsettled her to a certain degree, especially when Simon Masrani popped by to express his 'sincerest congratulations' – his wording made her flinch.

Even Zara kept giving her weird looks, and even though Claire didn't find the idea of parading Owen's family around the resort particularly appealing, after a few hours of basically being the park's new attraction herself, she was almost looking forward to it, needing desperately to escape the scrutiny of everyone whose opinion didn't matter only a few days ago. That, and she still had no idea how she was going to break the news to her sister just yet.

What Claire didn't expect was to find out was that by 'a walk in the park', Owen meant a six-mile hike along one of the trails running across the island.

There were a few of them, and although the majority of tourists didn't bother leaving the comfort of the hotel, venturing no far than the beach if they did, there always were a couple of guests who wanted to explore the jungles just a little bit more, see the wilderness for themselves.

"You said _a walk_ ," Claire hissed, trying to keep up with Owen. The tennis shoes she wasn't used to wearing anywhere outside of the gym started to rub blisters into her soles and the back of her ankles.

"And we're walking," Owen responded, not even a little winded after a four-mile stroll through the humid forest. In front of them, his parents were plowing ahead like they had a fresh set of batteries in them, chatting animatedly with one another, their voices swallowed by the rustling of the foliage and the crunching of the gravel beneath their feet.

Once, Elaine asked if maybe they should slow down, undoubtedly noticing Claire's struggle, but before Claire could so much as open her mouth, Owen assured his mother that they were up for a little challenge, earning a murderous glare from his _wife-to-be_.

Claire swatted at the mosquitos and blew a strand of hair off her forehead with an irritated huff only to have it fall right back over her eyes again. Her clothes were sticking to her body, and in that moment, she decided she would much rather have the gossip mill of the island grind her into dust than take another step, if only because she really did want to still be able to move tomorrow, or maybe a week from now. The backpack that Owen so thoughtfully packed for her that was seemingly loaded with rocks, pressing her down to the ground.

His story from the previous night popped up in her mind, echoing with a pang of longing somewhere deep inside her, and for a second, she wondered if they were going to the cliffs where one could see day and night at the same time. If maybe he wanted to show the place where he 'proposed' to her to his parents. But the direction and the elevation were wrong – even Claire could tell that, and she didn't dare ask.

After another hour of what could have just as easily been walking in circles, for all she knew, the path finally spewed the four of them onto the riverbank, and Claire nearly moaned with relief when she realized that they were finally having a break. Her muscles screamed and she was covered head to toe in mosquito bites, the shorts that felt like a good definition of 'comfortable' earlier were making her pay for this reckless decision. She'd long taken off the shirt she wore over her tank top and tied it around her waist, and now her shoulders had turned a gentle shade pink, easily sunburned even through the canopy of leaves over their heads.

"This looks like a nice spot," Jack Grady announced, dropping his backpack on the ground and strolling over to the river to splash some water on his reddened face.

Elaine set her own backpack down as well and looked around. "Flat enough," she agreed.

Claire plopped down onto the nearest rock and stretched out her legs, rolling the stiffness from her shins and ankles while Owen joined his father near the water, the two of them talking quietly.

"Honey, you doing okay?" Elaine asked, approaching Claire and offering her a water bottle that Claire accepted gratefully.

"Yes, of course, I'm just…." She clamped her mouth shut, wondering what Owen did or didn't tell them about her, and if mentioning how much she hated every moment of the past 3 hours was appropriate in this situation. Instead, she swallowed a few hungry gulps of water, taking her time to gather her thoughts together. "Are we going back now?"

The idea was torturous but at least it promised the end of this… whatever it was.

Elaine blinked at her, then laughed like it was the most hilarious thing anyone ever told her. "No, sweetie. This is where we're camping for the night."

The _night_?!

"Right," Claire's lips formed into something akin a smile, or so she hoped. With effort, she pulled herself up onto her feet. "Of course. Excuse me for a moment?" She limped over to Owen, wincing with every step. " _Sweetheart_ , can I steal you for just a second?" Flashing a smile at Jack, she grabbed Owen's wrist and dragged him to the edge of the clearing. "The night?" She asked fiercely once they were out of the earshot of his parents. "We're staying here till _morning_? Is this a joke?"

"Claire, relax…" Owen started.

"I'm not going to relax," she dropped her voice even lower, fighting the urge the scratch the skin off her arms. "Are you seriously telling me we're going to sleep in the forest full of dinosaurs?" Her chest tightened at the thought. "And… and where _exactly_ are we going to sleep?"

"We're going to find some firewood, okay?" Elaine called out, tearing her attention away from unpacking hers and Jack's stuff while the latter was filling their canteens with the fresh water. "You guys good to wait here?"

"Yes, it's… um, Claire's phone doesn't have reception here, is all," Owen responded easily.

"It doesn't?" She snapped, pulling it out of the pocket of her shorts. It did, which earned Owen a stink eye. "Not funny."

"Sorry, _babe_ , couldn't resist," he smirked. "It's safe here, okay? Those invisible barriers you're taking about all the time? Yeah, well, they work. We're fine. Do you really think I'd bring my parents to a dinosaur BBQ?" He gave her a _look_. "And we're going to sleep in sleeping bags. Hence the name – _sleeping_ bags. Don't worry, I brought ours."

"Ours?" She called after him when he strolled away. "As in, _two_?"

It was so damn hard to keep running after him when she could barely walk.

In the end, Claire found herself sitting on the bank with her feet in the water, which was the only way for her blisters to stop hurting apparently, her mind abuzz. It was almost soothing, the quiet voices behind her, the crackling of the fire Jack had started. She did hope it wouldn't attract any living forms to their campsite, but otherwise it wasn't that bad, minus the fact that right now even Owen's crammed bungalow seemed like the most luxurious palace, compared to having to sleep on bare ground.

Maybe she could call for a chopper-

"You okay here, Claire?" Elaine plopped down onto the grass beside Claire and offered her a granola bar, and it was only then that Claire realized how ravenous she was.

"Thanks," she accepted it with a smile.

"I hope it's okay we barged in on you like this, short notice and all," Elaine said. "Jack and I… we haven't traveled around much in quite a while, and then all of this just sort of fell into place."

"No, no, it's great," Claire assured her quickly, nearly chocking on a mouthful of sticky oats. "I mean… congratulations. Forty years is…" She shook her head sheepishly. "It's a very long time."

"Never felt that way," Elaine shrugged, then glanced over her shoulder. "Owen sure loves this place. And his raptors, and…" She gave Claire a long, studious look, which the latter pretended not to notice, engrossed in watching the ripples and currents on the surface of the water. "I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you."

Claire swallowed the piece she was chewing, her throat dry all of sudden, feeling the colour creep up her cheeks again. "He's… ah, very dedicated," she responded, struggling to find a better word.

Elaine nodded, also looking at the water now. "After his last tour with the NAVY… Well, he took it pretty hard. Which you probably know," she added with an apologetic smile. "It's good to see him going back to being his old self again."

"Yeah, it is good," Claire muttered, feeling queasy by the second. Like she walked in on something private she wasn't supposed to know, and there was no way to get away from it because she was _supposed_ to know those things about Owen, except she had no right to—

"You might need to do something about this," Elaine said, and when Claire turned to her, confused, she was pointing at a scatter of mosquito bites on Claire's left shoulder and the base of her neck – the very same mosquito bites that started to itch the moment she noticed them. "You know what? I'll go get something for this, okay?"

"It's fine, really," Claire began to protest, but the other woman already rose to her feet, and all she could do in the end was call after her, "Thank you."

Claire took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Her whole body ached in the way it hadn't in a very, very long time, and the kindness of strangers, the people she literally only met yesterday, was more than she could seemingly handle. What was she doing here? God, this idea was so much simpler when it was just about her and Owen! And it was one thing that she had to lie to his parents, but making him do it felt wrong on a whole different level.

The man was unbearable at best, and downright intolerable most of the time for as long as she knew him, and the fact that not mentioning this hike to her was nothing but a joke to him was making her want to push him into the Mosasaurus's pool without thinking twice. But his parents didn't deserve to be mixed up in this nonsense, all because of her stupid—

"Yeah, mom was right."

She looked up abruptly to find Owen towering over her, shielding her from the firelight, his face dark and unreadable.

"I'll live," Claire mumbled, reaching for the lotion he was holding in his hand.

He crouched down beside her. "Let me."

"I can do it," she told him sternly.

And this time, when their eyes met, his was crinkling with humor. "Sure you can, Claire. Doesn't mean you have to." He unscrewed the cap, and the air around them filled with a delicate scent of chamomile. "What is it with you and not letting people help you?"

"This question is not on the list, Mr. Grady," she turned away when he started to rub the lotion gently into her shoulders and neck, his fingers warm and a little calloused, but very gentle, like he was worried he could hurt her by accident.

"You said we should learn more about each other," Owen suggested, his breath falling on her back made Claire shiver, her body stiffening instantly and her own throat closing up when his hand slipped under the strap of her tank-top.

"This is not the kind of information that is going to help us at the interview," she didn't budge.

He didn't insist.

"Thanks, by the way," Owen said when he was done. He pulled away and lowered down next to her, twisting the lotion bottle in his hands. "For coming along."

"Didn't think I had a choice," she hummed dryly, and Owen let out a short laugh.

"'Course, you had! You're the Operations Manager of the park. You can do whatever you want." He shook his head, chucking under his breath. "It means a lot to my parents that you've found the time-"

"You know that it's not real, right?" She exhaled, feeling like they were all sucked in too deep already.

"They don't," he told her seriously. "C'mon, the dinner's served." With that, Owen stood up, and then scooped her effortlessly in his arms, earning a surprised yelp in response.

"What are you doing?" Claire demanded in a loud whisper, her arms locking instinctively around his neck, her face basically pressed to his.

"You can barely walk," he murmured into her ear. "Please don't make a scene over this, Claire."

"I'm not—" she cut off. "If you drop me-"

"I won't," Owen promised, his grip firm and tight around her. "You're welcome."

She didn't dignify his comment with an answer.

They had hot dogs and s'mores for dinner – the kind of food Claire wouldn't normally touch with a ten-foot pole. She wolfed down two of each before she even knew it happened, hungry after the hike and the stress of the day, relaxed by the campfire and the easy conversation between Owen and his parents, its flow seamless, pouring from one topic into another, the names she'd never heard before and would probably never hear again not registering in her mind.

At some point, Owen even pulled her feet into his lap and rubbed some balm that felt cool on her skin into Claire's blisters, promising her she'd be good as new by morning, and she allowed him to do it almost without a protest, accepting his plaid shirt when the temperature plummeted after dark.

It wasn't until his parents retreated to their tent that the reality finally caught up with Claire. Especially when she noticed him unroll their _bag_.

Singular.

No tent, either.

"We are not sharing this," she declared, her voice uncompromising, and even took a step away from him as if Owen was going to forcefully squeeze her inside and zip it shut.

"Suit yourself," he agreed easily. "More space for me."

"Well, how about _you_ sleep on the ground and _I_ take the bag?" Claire puckered her lips.

"That's _my_ bag," he pointed out, mock-appalled by the fact that she had the audacity to even suggest something like that.

"And you couldn't bring two bags?" She demanded.

"I don't have two bags." He sighed with exasperation. "Look, you have two choices – to sleep here, with me, or to build a nest of your own. Your call, Claire." And then, "There's enough space for two here. Trust me, I checked."

She frowned down at him. "With your Petting Zoo girlfriend?"

He raised an eyebrow. "What does it matter?"

"It doesn't," Claire growled through her teeth and swept the clearing with her glance, torn.

Sure, she could sleep on a pile of rocks in a dinosaur-infested forest (so what if Owen Grady claimed it was a safe spot?) just to prove her point, and in most circumstances that'd be exactly what she'd do. He planned it that way! Of course, he did…. Except every word they'd exchanged in the past few days was dripping with contempt, so why would he ever want—

"Move over," she ordered, stepping toward Owen and glaring at him for good measure.

It was a damn snug fit, Claire had to admit that much. The sleeping bag was warm though, and with the extra heat coming from Owen's body behind her, she felt like being wrapped into a cozy cocoon. They put out the fire but a few embers were still glowing in the fire pit, dispersing the otherwise pitch-black darkness, and in their pale, eerie light, Claire found the zipper and pulled it up until she was sure neither of them would roll out in their sleep.

"Was that really necessary?" She grumbled, trying to figure out what to do with her legs. "Honestly, your house is barely a step up from a tarp stretched between the trees. We could have just as easily had the exact same experience in your living room."

"But where's the adventure in that?"

"What are you doing?" Claire asked with alarm when Owen's arm snaked around her waist.

"Where exactly am I supposed to put it?" He retorted defensively, the sound that she felt more than heard. And just like that, his body relaxed, enveloping hers, his breath falling on her neck, and her own eyelids were suddenly leaden, her attention slipping away. She stiffened when his fingers brushed against her shoulder, pushing her hair to the side. "Sorry," Owen murmured. "It's kinda in my face."

"It's okay," Claire heard herself whisper, uncertain if it was loud enough for Owen to catch her words over the sound of the river running nearby and the rustling of the leaves. It was like the forest around them was breathing, moving with each inhale and exhale.

He stayed quiet after that, and she found herself sinking back into him, tired and drowsy. He smelled of sunscreen and repellent and man, and something familiar… something she couldn't put her finger on. But it was good.

"Whatever my mother told you -" Owen said suddenly when she was starting to doze off, jolting her awake again.

 _I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you._

"She didn't tell me anything," Claire responded in a hurried jumble of words, her stomach in knots, unsure if she wanted to have this conversation now, or ever.

He didn't seem to hear her. "During my last tour, we were passing through a village," his voice was in her ear, filling her head with images. "Thought it was abandoned at first, like many others in the area. It sure looked that way. But it wasn't." She was practically holding her breath now, both scared of and hungry for what would come next. "There were people in the houses. Men, women, children. Tortured in a way I couldn't even imagine was possible." Owen's voice dropped and Claire squeezed her eyes tight, glad that she couldn't see his face, or he hers. "I've seen some shit before, but on that day… You can't imagine how twisted people can be until you _know_ it, and then you wish you didn't."

"I'm sorry," she breathed out.

A few days ago, Owen Grady was an arrogant jerk who didn't bother to dress up properly before taking a girl out and generously showering her with sleazy comments for the rest of the evening. A part of her preferred him to stay that guy. Instead, there now was a whole new man she couldn't, and didn't want to understand. This was complicating things, and she hated _complicated_.

He cleared his throat, his arm flexing around Claire. "Dealing with the animals has been a safer bet since then," he finished. "I know it's not in the binder, but… you know, a little insight?"

Claire's fingers brushed against his wrist. "You didn't have to…"

"I know. Sleep."

 **To be continued...**

* * *

 **A/N:** As per usual, the feedback is very, very appreciated! Thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:** Sorry, guys, life got in the way. Thanks for your patience! Hopefully it won't take this long next time.

Dig in :))

* * *

The funny thing about sleeping on the ground was that one could have a sleeping bag, or two, or maybe even ten, and it would still not change the fact that they were _sleeping on the ground_ with each rock and pebble and bump in the surface digging into their body.

It was the light that awoke Claire, too bright and threatening to burn right through her eyelids. Her mind still hazy, she pressed her face into Owen's chest that moved rhythmically as he breathed, snuggling deeper into his embrace and away from the cool breeze and patches of fog rising from the river. She didn't remember rolling over in her sleep, but she must have. Their legs tangled together, Claire wiggled closer to him, and even without waking up, Owen tightened his grip on her, his hand on the small of her back, pressing her against his chest. She had a dream exactly like this once, or twice.

His face was buried in her hair as he snored quietly in that non-intrusive, white-noise kind of way that made her mind start to drift off again. The man was like a damn furnace, which served her just fine. Soothed by the warmth of his body and his presence, she allowed her eyes to drop shut again, desperate to hold on to the precious moments of peace and quiet. She stretched along him, melting into his form, her fingers instinctively clutching his shirt, the sleeping bag not feeling all that snug around them anymore.

"You smell so good," Owen muttered in his sleep. Or her sleep. _Someone_ was definitely asleep. And Claire's lips curved on the will of their own.

Granted, she wasn't even fully awake yet, but even so, in her rather confused state of mind, it wasn't that bad, as far as her very first attempt at camping was concerned. If only it wasn't for that rock digging into her calf, and whatever it was stabbing her in the thigh—

Claire's eyes snapped open and she all but tumbled out into a foggy morning with a yelp, making Owen fall on his face when the support of her body was suddenly gone.

"Claire?" He groaned in a hoarse voice, rubbing his eyes and blinking at her in confusion. "What the hell?"

"What they hell?" She repeated. " _What the hell?_ " It came out as an angry hiss. "What the hell is _this_?" Her perfectly manicured finger pointed at their makeshift bed, her cheeks hot. _Oh, god…_

"What?" He ran a hand over his face and looked down, grimacing a bit when it finally dawned on him what it was that freaked her out. "It's _morning_ ," Owen rolled his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world and she might have as well figured that out on her own. "Nothing personal, _Ms. Dearing_. It's not like I can control it."

"Well, you better find a way-" Claire started, all righteous indignation, red to the roots of her hair.

"You kids sure love to sleep in," Elaine's voice cut her off as she and Jack stepped into the clearing, chipper and fresh-faced, and it was only then that Claire noticed that their tent and sleeping bags were already rolled up and stacked on top of one another near their backpacks.

Jack stretched, stifling a yawn – it looked like it was his wife's idea to have an early morning walk, Claire guessed, and after a quick round of good-mornings, he busied himself with starting the fire again and making coffee while Owen attempted to bury himself in the sleeping bag once again.

"Claire?" Elaine turned to her, making her very much aware of the fact that she was sitting on her ass several feet away from Owen, probably looking mildly insane with her wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

Claire smoothed down her hair – an automatic, nervous gesture – and offered Owen's mother a weak smile. "I'm fine." A quick glance at Owen who wiggled out of sight entirely, his laughter muffled under the covers. "I just had a… nightmare."

She refused the hot dog offered to her for breakfast and opted for cheese and crackers instead, still somewhat nauseated from last night, and this morning, and this whole situation in general, gulping down two cups of coffee in hopes of maybe starting to think straight again. If this was what these people did for fun, she was glad they were only here for one weekend.

They headed back after breakfast, looping around the hill and taking it easy this time on account of Claire's blisters after Owen wrapped an entire roll of First Aid tape around them, barely ever meeting her eyes all morning, although it was hard to tell whether he was doing it for his sake or hers. His movements were smooth and sure, like he'd done the exact same thing a million times before, and he probably had, the touch of his warm hands to her cool skin making Claire shiver involuntarily.

Surprisingly, she found herself engaged in conversation this time, sharing the history of the island and the first park with Owen's parents, the details very few people, and probably only those involved in the reopening knew. Like the part about keeping the first park's structures because some of them were so reinforced against the possible outbreak of the dinosaurs it was more trouble to tear them down than to leave them be.

Her muscles still protested every move she made, and after about two hours, Claire couldn't help but slow down to a near crawl, the soles of her feet practically on fire. Frankly, if she could drop on her knees and continue on all fours, she'd do that in a heartbeat.

"Any slower, and you'll start walking backwards," Owen commented matter-of-factly, throwing a quick look at her over his shoulder. They still had another mile to cover before they made it back.

She glowered at him from under her bands that kept falling in her eyes and blew her hair off her face with a huff. "Well, I'm sorry if my pain is so inconvenient for you, Mr. Grady."

"And we're back to Mr. Grady." Owen muttered under his breath and rubbed his eyes. "Dad, can you hold this please?" He shrugged off his backpack and handed it to Jack before crouching down in front of Claire and pointing at his back. "Hop on."

She stared down at him, her mouth agape. "This is a joke, right?"

"Come on, Claire. I want to get back home sometime this week."

Claire folded her arms over her chest. "I am not-" Her gaze flickered toward Jack and Elaine, her frown deepening instantly. Had they not been around, she'd tell him to go to hell. But as it was, Claire found her hands tied. It was hardly a good idea to make a big deal out of Owen's offer to carry her in front of his family. "Fine."

Awkwardly, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her knees pressed into his ribs, and then Owen stood up, his hands locked under her butt to keep her from sliding down, seemingly not even noticing her weight like she was feather-light. The grip she intended to keep as light as possible tightened as soon as they started to walk lest she slide off, her chest pressed closely to his back now. Owen's body felt warm and solid, like a piece of granite, and just as indestructible.

"This is what you get when you spring out on me with surprise hikes," she said quietly, almost despite herself.

"Oh, so this is you trying to get back at me, huh?" Owen couldn't help but ask, swallowing her bait easily.

She scoffed. "Get over yourself, Owen. Not everything in the world is about you."

"My apologies. Obviously, it's all about _you_." He snorted.

"Louder. Your parents didn't hear you."

"What is your fucking problem?" He demanded in that steel voice, sharp and tense, that normally meant she'd pushed one button too many.

Claire bit into her bottom lip. His hair was curling at the ends in the late morning humidity, smelling faintly of shampoo and soft against her cheek – and she couldn't move further away from it no matter how much she tried, without tumbling down. The air around them was so thick she could probably cut it with a knife, clinging to her skin like a film.

"My problem is this is all a joke to you," she said, but softer – an unspoken truce offering.

"Sure. Lying to the federal government is a joke to me," he deadpanned.

"That's not what I meant," she protested. "If this plan blows, you'll be deported, which would be unfortunate, of course. But me? I'll go to prison. So excuse me for maybe not being amused by your impromptu hiking plans. I've got more important things on my mind."

He stayed quiet for a few minutes as they started down a steep decline toward the valley that bordered the territory of the park, mere 20 minutes away from his house now.

"I'll tell me them it was my idea," Owen told her at last.

"What?"

"If shit goes south, I'll tell them it was my idea – the whole marriage and all."

"No," Claire said firmly.

His gaze flickered briefly to her. "Why? What're they gonna do? Deport me extra hard?"

Her arms flexed around him. "No," she repeated stubbornly. "Not an option."

"Yeah well, it's not your call." It sounded like a final decision. "Besides, it won't blow. I'll charm my way through it and you… maybe you won't piss 'em off too much."

There was a hint of laughter in his voice, the fight drained out of it, and Claire poked him in the ribs with her finger without another word.

As far as fake bonding with her future in-laws went, she considered their outing a success. Minus the blisters, the sunburns, the rash she got form something or another, probably a poison ivy, and waking up to Owen's- Well, it could probably be worse.

It was when his parents disappeared in the bungalow and she finally slid off Owen's back that she grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him down until his face was on the same level as hers, demanding in a voice that allowed no objection, "Take me home. Now!"

She needed a shower. God, she needed to stay in the shower for 20 hours, and maybe get a tetanus shot afterwards just to be safe, and her hair… she didn't want to even begin to think what her hair looked like. And her phone, her emails… There was a reason Claire Dearing didn't do nature!

"Yes, okay, Your Highness," he hummed, pulling away from her grip. "You don't need to strangle me. Although," he waggled his eyebrows at her, "if it's your thing…"

"Don't tempt me," she patted him on the chest with an icy smile.

"Promises, promises…" Owen breathed out, and then yelled, "Mom, dad! You wanna see the night life of the resort tonight?" Jack poked his head out of the bungalow at that, and Owen draped his arm over Claire's neck, nearly making her knees buckle. "We could stay at Claire's afterwards. Right, _cupcake_?"

"I swear to god, Grady…" She began, but then only puffed her cheeks and breathed out slowly.

Two more days…

xoox

"Here's good," Claire muttered when Owen turned onto the plaza in front of the Hilton. She pushed her hair back from her forehead. "And just so we're clear, by the 'night life' you meant…"

"Maybe a dinner," he suggested. "Surprise me."

She nodded and reached for the handle, eager to escape the heavy silence that settled around them without his parents to take the edge off this ridiculous affair. "Okay, I'll figure something out."

"Claire?"

She turned, and when she did, Owen's hand slipped into her hair and cupped the back of her head seconds before his lips found hers, hard and almost demanding this time. He knew what he was doing – it took the man one kiss to figure out what she liked, the memory of the previous morning still fresh and seared into Claire's mind.

This time, he was taking instead of asking for permission, and god, did it feel incredible. His lips were warm and he tasted of coffee and a carefully tamped back desire nearly palpable to the touch, and the mix would have made her weak in the knees even if her last date didn't happen over a year ago. And when he began to pull back, her lips parted for him in a way that already felt frighteningly familiar, her tongue tracing the outline of his mouth, until she heard a low, guttural growl, failing to understand who it was coming from.

Never once did a wake-up call sound so loud.

"You have got to stop doing this," Claire mumbled rather numbly, choosing to ignore the fact that she kissed him back.

"A bit of practice for our fake honeymoon," Owen shrugged and started his jeep again. "Seven sounds okay?"

She nodded again and finally tumbled out into the bright early afternoon, instantly drawing attention of every staff member in a two-mile radius, the smiles they tried to hide, the not so discreet whispers feeling like a bucket of ice-cold water poured down on her.

The hotel was packed, and when after scrubbing five layers of jungle off her skin and finally feeling like a normal human being again, Claire went downstairs to request a room for Owen's parents for the night, it turned out that there were none left. Moreover, they were pre-booked for the next month, so much so that even the Presidential suite was reserved, and to Claire's memory, it almost always stood empty.

The good thing about being in charge of the most successful and ambitious amusement park in history was that she was good at strategizing. The bad thing was that even she couldn't magically make the hotel expand, no matter how much she needed it.

In the end, Claire decided to be grateful for a spare bedroom in her own apartment that she normally used as a study. Still, it boasted and decent-sized bed and all the amenities. It wasn't ideal, but it was the next best option to spending another night in Owen's bungalow, and one night there was one night too many.

She charged her phone and found out that ACU approved the I-Rex's paddock plan, meaning that she could now start drafting the request for the construction crew and a list of needed materials for Simon to sign next week. It was almost like the countless hours spent in Owen Grady's company were finally paying off with small mercies from the Universe. On Monday, they'd pass the goddamn interview with flying colours, and she would finally be able to breathe again. And after a while, if she tried real hard, Claire knew she'd be able to forget all those things she'd learned about him that turned Owen into a whole different person.

xoox

She needed to call Karen, Claire decided sometime in the afternoon after taking a long hot bath and then nearly wearing a bald patch in her expensive carpet from a non-stop, 3-hour long pacing. She needed to call her sister before someone else did. Someone like Agent Hendricks because if there was anything she knew about Karen it was that she'd never forgive Claire for hearing about her 'engagement' from someone else, although for a moment there, Claire was tempted to let Hendricks deal with her sister first. After all, Claire didn't have to go back to the US anytime soon.

With just a little bit of strategic planning, she wouldn't have to go home until she was already divorced, and maybe – maybe! – Karen would forget by then about this particular happenstance. She had other concerns after all, as far as Claire was aware. What did Owen call her marriage? Rocky. Right.

How did he know?

Claire sighed and glared at her phone as if it was its fault she'd rather walk on broken glass than tell her sister about her bogus engagement to someone she would mostly likely – and hopefully – never meet. Frankly, just the idea of Owen attending their family dinners was giving her a headache.

She stopped abruptly in the middle of her living room and heaved a weary sigh, wondering absently if her neck was ever going to not have that uncomfortable kink in it again after her new and exciting camping experience.

This was ridiculous! She was a grown and accomplished woman who'd been running the most ambitious and successful project in history, artfully handling over 20,000 guests and 1,200 of staff on a daily basis. She had two Master's degrees and the heads of the richest companies in the world on speed-dial. She had a personal assistant and a salary that could buy half of this place in about 6 months - if she cut down on purchasing new shoes, that is.

And yes, she was scared of her big sister.

Claire scrolled through her phone book, her finger hovering over the Dial button for a few long moments.

And then her gaze caught another name, just a few lines before Karen's, her lips stretching into a contemplative smile as a proverbial lightbulb came on over her head.

"Mark?" She asked when the man on the other end of the line picked up after a couple of rings. "Hi, this is Claire. Claire Dearing. We met at… Right, with Simon Masrani." A pause. "Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you for a small favour-" She took a deep breath listening to the man. "Actually, yes, Mr. Masrani will benefit from it indeed."

xoox

Owen knocked on her door at 7 on the dot, and Claire pulled it open, dressed in a dark-grey knee-length cocktail dress, her hair framing her face in soft waves. She gave Owen a critical look, taking in his khaki slacks and a light-blue shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and nodded with approval before stepping back to let him in.

"You clean up nicely," she commented when he closed the door to what could not possibly be a one-person residence. For one thing, it could fit three of his bungalows and there'd still be some space left for his bike, and maybe even his car if he stacked them one on top of the other.

"You sound surprised," Owen noted as she padded barefoot across the soft beige carpet toward what he assumed was the bedroom while he studied the exquisite design of her living room and the park outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, streetlights glinting below them in purple dusk.

"Shouldn't I be?" Claire reappeared in the doorway, earrings in her hands. She put them on swiftly, watching him with that half-smile Owen couldn't read – like she had a secret he was not allowed to know. Okay, she probably did have a dozen of them, he thought. "I mean, I thought you only had board shorts for every occasion, including weddings and funerals."

Owen stuffed his hands into the pockets of his slacks. "Give me some credit," he snorted.

"That's what this whole arrangement is about," she pointed out, approaching him. "Do you mind?" She handed him the matching necklace and turned around, scooping her hair up to allow him to fasten the clasp on the back of her neck.

She smelled good, of jasmine and vanilla, like a warm summer day, and without her ridiculous ever-present heels, she was just tall enough for him to comfortably rest his chin on the top of her head if he wanted to. And he did, his hands itching to wrap around her waist. His fingers brushed the back of her neck, and maybe it was only Owen's imagination, but he could've sworn he heard her suck in a sharp breath, stilling before him.

"You know, if I knew your room took up half of the hotel I would probably…" He stepped away from her lest he do something stupid. Like kiss that pale neck of hers and thus successfully ruin everything they'd accomplished so far, their shaky half-peace and all.

"What?" Claire turned to him.

"Maybe reconsidered board shorts the first time around," he smirked.

Smiling, she put on silver strappy high-heeled sandals and reached for her clutch. "If it makes you feel any better, it only takes up half of this floor." Claire paused with her hand on the door. "Your family loves you very much. You know that, right?"

"I know," he gave her a serious look, puzzled by the sudden change of subject but not willing to press for more details.

She nodded and pulled the door open.

The restaurant where she booked a table earlier was packed, brightly dressed crowd filling every table and spilling out into the street with champagne flutes in hands.

"At least this is more sophisticated that hot dogs," Claire muttered, her eyes scanning the menu peppered with French words.

"Come on, you loved them," Owen told her, leaning closer to her, and she glared at him over the leather-bound folder in her hands.

"For you information, Mr. Grady…"

"You wouldn't normally touch a hot-dog with a ten-foot pole," he finished for her, studying the selection of entrees. "I know, I know." He put the menu down. "Please tell me more about why it couldn't have possibly worked between us for real."

"Like you wanted it to," Claire huffed.

She was meant to add something else, the words were on the tip of her tongue, but this was when Elaine and Jack walked into the restaurant, pausing briefly by the maître d' to be directed to their table, and she and Owen both rose to their feet to greet them.

"Play nice," Owen muttered to her around a broad smile, reserved to his parents.

"Bite me," Claire responded in kind through her teeth, also beaming for all she was worth and trying hard to ignore the eyes of the personnel undoubtedly following their every move and hungrily snatching bits of the conversation reaching their ears.

"Not in public, baby."

xoox

"You know, Claire, there was a time Owen wouldn't eat anything but the fish he'd catch himself?" Elaine said when her order of trout arrived half an hour later and the server refilled their glasses before walking away.

"You wouldn't say," Claire glanced at her _fiancé_ out of the corner of her eye to see the colour rise up his cheeks, which his parents promptly ignored.

"We lived in a small town until it was time for the boys to start school," Jack added, taking a sip of his wine. "There was a creek behind the house, and if they weren't emptying the pantry, they were there." He laughed and Owen groaned.

"And so little has changed," Claire piped up, pushing her salmon around the plate, too anxious to focus on the food. "I still need to drag him back home from those woods, usually with a carcass of a boar on his shoulder."

Owen shot her a warning look. "There're no boars in those jungles, _cutie pie_."

"Boars, dinosaurs." Claire flashed a smile at Elaine and Jack. "Same thing, really. I mean, you know boys, right?"

"Are we done with the blast from the past?" Owen interjected, and Elaine patted him on the arm.

"Don't worry, honey, no potty training stories tonight."

"Mom." He buried his face in his hands, and Claire leaned over to him.

"I'd actually love to hear that," she teased him until his mouth curved into a crooked smile, her eyes darting involuntarily toward his lips for a moment.

"They get more and more brutal the older I become," he told her in a loud whisper, making both of his parents laugh.

The rest of the dinner went without a hitch and consisted mostly of Claire finish more embarrassing details about Owen from Elaine, much to her delight – there seemed to be no shortage of them. When he was five and didn't get candy for dinner, he decided to run away from home, and even made it all the way to the driveway before getting scared and rushing back home in tears. Brave future Marine that he was! At age 7, he had a pet rock named Marshmallow because having two pet dogs wasn't enough. There were times when he'd fallen asleep in the closet and they had to call the police because they couldn't find him…

After a while, Owen gave up on trying to stop this madness.

Once their plates were cleared, the server brought two pieces of chocolate cake with the birthday-type candles on them – 4 on Elaine's and 0 on Jack's, in honour of their 40th wedding anniversary.

"Oh," Elaine pressed her hand to her mouth. "This is so thoughtful of you two."

Beside Claire, Owen cleared his throat. "It's all Claire, mom," he said in a tight voice, and when she glanced at him, he was staring straight ahead at his parents, his jaw set tautly.

"Thank you, dear. It's very sweet." Owen's mother was nearly tearing up now, and it was damn hard to keep the eye contact with her.

"As it should be," Jack echoed. "It's a _chocolate_ cake."

Claire laughed around a hot lump lodged in her throat, wishing she could be _anywhere_ instead of sitting at this table now and lying to these people. She reached for her wine, more to do something with her hands than anything else, pretty certain she wouldn't be able to taste it and praying the smile she plastered on her face remained intact.

"So, have you thought of when you want to get married?" Elaine asked, stabbing a fork into her piece of cake.

The wine suddenly somewhere in her nose, Claire started to cough, struggling to inhale properly, her eyes burning. Owen reached to take her glass immediately and to clap her on the back, his enthusiasm nearly sending her flying across the table. "I'm good, I'm good." She grabbed the napkin to dab her lips. "I'm sorry. Wrong pipe."

"Honey, you don't need to scare them like that," Jack joked, earning a nervous laugh from his son.

"I would just like to know, Jack, in case we need to plan around those dates," his wife countered.

"Well, we haven't really…" Owen began. He gave Claire a quick, panicked look. "How does June sound to you, Pooh Bear?"

Claire's eyes slipped past Jack, widening before she had a chance to respond to either June, or Pooh Bear.

Standing by the maître d's stand near the entrance was Agent Nathan Hendricks – slicked back hair, sharp suit, thin-rimmed glasses and all. His brows were furrowed as his eyes darted toward the patrons of the restaurant as he spoke to the man in front of him, his expression sharp and menacing. Claire's heart tripped over itself, her foot kicking Owen in the shin under the table.

"Okay, okay, you don't like June. We can discuss it," he started, cutting off when he followed her gaze, his jaw dropping. "Shit."

"Language," Jack said automatically, not even looking up from his dessert.

"Is everything okay?" Elaine asked, also glancing over her shoulder just in time to see maître d' point at their table.

"Yes, of course! It's, um… work." Clare dropped her napkin on the table, adding some wattage to her smile to compensate for her quivering voice. "Excuse me for a second."

"Be right back," Owen muttered, leaping up from his seat and following her between the tables. "What's he doing here?" He hissed into her ear.

"Trying to ruin our lives, I presume," she responded grimly. "Agent Hendricks," Claire was the first to meet him in the middle of the room. "What a surprise. What brings you here?"

"Told you I'd be checking up on you," Hendricks told her, leveling Owen with a heavy look. "You have a nice place here, exciting animals, helpful people. Very helpful, in fact. Isn't it interesting, Ms. Dearing, that no one on this island seemed to know you and Mr. Grady were in a relationship until a few days ago?"

"Not really," Owen replied before she so much as opened her mouth, his hand sliding habitually around Claire's waist. "We didn't want to flaunt it in front of anyone. A boss and a subordinate, this kind of thing." He shrugged, his voice flat and steady. If Claire didn't feel the slight tremor in his fingers, she'd believe he was calm as a rock. "I'm sure employees of government institutions understand that this kind of thing can be frowned upon, especially in such a small community."

Hendricks looked from one to another over the rims of his glasses. "Yes, it can be," he agreed. "Are those your parents, Mr. Grady?" He pointed over Owen's shoulder. "How did they take the news?"

"They're ecstatic," Claire assured him. "Would you like to take this someplace more private?"

The growing interest of the public around them was starting to get under her skin.

Hendricks marked something in his notebook and pushed his glasses up his nose. "No, no. That won't be necessary, Ms. Dearing. I think I have everything I need." He tucked his pen into the pocket of his jacket and nodded to each of them. "Monday, is it? I'll see you then." He paused. "Unless, any last words? Maybe the truth for once?"

Owen tucked Claire closer to him, "The truth is, Agent, that my parents are here for their anniversary, and unless you want to maybe join us, my fiancé and I would love to go back to them."

"What do you think he dug up?" Claire asked more herself than Owen when Hendricks was gone.

"Do you have a sex tape?" He echoed absently, obviously not joking. "Because if you do, he might have found it."

She ignored his comment. "I need some air."

Without looking at him, she headed for the exit, speeding up with every step until the noise of the restaurant was no longer filling her head, the humid air feeling surprisingly fresh on her skin. Except even it wasn't helping. She was hyperventilating and the air wasn't enough, like her lungs suddenly shrunk in size or—

"Claire, wait!"

Owen pushed out of the door after her, catching up with her in two quick strides.

"I can't, okay?" She whirled around, her chest tight. "I don't care about lying to this whole island, Owen, or to this Agent what's-his-name, but I can't be lying to your parents anymore." Her breathing was short and labored like she'd run a 10-mile marathon, her heartbeat frantic. "I can't go back there and plan a June wedding and ask them to rearrange their plans and promise them we'll come over for Christmas. They don't deserve any of it and I had no right to drag you into this."

"Hey, you didn't." He stepped toward her, his hands warm on her arms. "Look at me. I said yes. I made the decision for myself. It's not just about you. Or me. You know it. Claire, look at me." His voice was firm, and from this close, she could practically sense the beating of his heart. A finger under her chin, he lifted her face up. "Breathe, okay? It's fine. It's only for one more night."

"I can't go back," she repeated, the hysterical notes creeping into her voice that was about to crack under the weight of emotions sweeping through her, one wave after another. "I forgot. I forgot what it was like to have someone care about me like this. I forgot what it was like to have someone love me and care about me, and I can't sit across from them and listen to the stories about 5-year old you being stuck between the couch cushions and nod and smile like it's nothing."

He squeezed her shoulders slightly. "It's fine. They were dancing when we left. I don't think they need our company for it."

She rubbed her forehead and uttered a shuddered sigh before taking a step away from him. "It's not just that."

"I know," he nodded and let out a long breath. "They're leaving tomorrow in the afternoon to spend a few days in San Jose. And after Monday, it won't really matter, right?"

"Right," Claire echoed.

"That's my girl." He grinned, and she swatted him off. Well, the man knew how to make her feel better, she had to give him that. "That was very nice of you, with the cake."

"It's just a cake," she tried to brush him off, but he was still watching her with that unreadable expression that made her feel like he'd never _seen_ her before. "It's not like I baked it."

"Thank god for that," he chuckled, making her roll her eyes and mutter something about how she wasn't entirely hopeless in the kitchen, thank you very much. "Believe it or not-"

"Owen!" He was cut off when several people rounded the corner, one of them immediately draping himself over Owen's neck. Tall and dark-skinned, he slapped Owen on the back, a hearty laughter bubbling up in his chest. "What are you…" He trailed off when he noticed Claire. "Oh."

"Hi," Claire mustered a small smile. "Barry, right?" He was filed under the Best Friends category in her mind.

"In the flesh."

They shook hands quickly. Behind him, Claire spotted five others, including Danielle the Petting Zoo girl, dressed casually for the night out – jeans, flats, tight tank-top, her hair twisted into a messy bun.

Owen's eyes swept over them as well as he nodded a few quick hellos. "Whatcha up to?"

"Going to that bar, McGee's," Barry motioned vaguely toward the less fancy end of Main Street. "Wanna come?"

"No, we're actually-" Owen started.

"Go," Claire said quietly, turning to him. "Honestly, Owen. I'm okay, I swear. And I'll make sure your parents are fine. Go, have a good time. This dinner is over anyway."

He hesitated, his gaze darting quickly toward the restaurant, and then leaned down to her in that casual, intimate way that almost didn't feel like a game. "Come with us."

Her lips tugged upwards. "I don't think so."

"Come on." He raised his eyebrows. "It'll be fun."

Claire opened her mouth to protest, but just then her phone started to ring. "Sorry, I've got to-" She pulled it out of her purse, and for a moment her eyes flickered toward Owen's Petting Zoo girlfriend who stood with had hands tucked into the back pockets of her jeans, her gaze landing on Owen every few seconds. "I need to deal with this," she told him. "And don't worry. If you want to… um, do something tonight, I'll tell your folks there was an emergency with the raptors or something. Really, have fun."

"Claire…" He began but she stepped away from him, waving at him to go join his pals as she pressed Accept and Lowery's voice burst into her ear, rattling whatever stats he needed to share with her.

"It's okay," she mouthed soundlessly, turning her back to the whole company, and by the time the phone call was over, they were all gone.

xoox

Despite Claire's generous offer to take her bedroom, Elaine and Jack insisted on crashing in the spare room. Technically, she could have just as easily driven them to the bungalow and simply had her whole suite to herself, but on their way back to the Hilton, Jack kept going on and on about the breakfast buffet or something as exciting, and she didn't have it in her to take that away from him.

When they finally fell out of the restaurant, a little tipsy and very amused by something she didn't catch, she fed them the emergency story, saying they'd probably have to see Owen tomorrow. He might have to spend the night at the paddock with his animals, and so on, and so forth, the lies thick in her throat for more reasons than she could count.

Not that it was any of her business, she reminded herself. She wasn't _really_ seeing him, after all. This was a business arrangement. She was not really going to start spending her holidays with these people and send them greeting cards for their birthdays or whatever.

Besides, she could use a night of decent sleep in her own bed.

A knock on the door came when Claire just got out of the shower. The time was nearing midnight and Owen's parents had already gone to sleep, and her first reaction was panic – something must have happened in the park and they couldn't reach her on the phone, and it was probably Zara—

"What are you doing here?" She asked when she saw Owen on the other side. "Shouldn't you be…"

"Hey, it's not every day that I get a chance to sleep in the Presidential Suite," he told her, squeezing inside past Claire and heading straight for the bedroom.

"It's an _Executive_ Suite. The Presidential one is across the hall," she corrected him.

"What's the difference?" Face puckered in confusion, he glanced at her over his shoulder.

"The name. To tell one from another," Claire responded flatly, following him with a sense of dread growing inside her. Well, that and relief.

"Woah!" He whistled under his breath, pausing in the doorway to take in a massive king-sized bed, expensive furnishings, and a panoramic view from the patio – the brightly lit resort glimmering at his feet. He plopped down onto the bed and bounced a couple of times for good measure before stretching leisurely and letting out a long content sigh. "I could get used to this."

"You're so not sleeping there," she told him sternly, arms folded over her chest.

Owen opened one eye to peek at her. "Nice jammies, by the way," he commented on her silk top-and-shorts ensemble, and she rolled her eyes. "Is this what you always wear to bed?"

"I did not expect a company," she pointed out.

"Hey, I'm not complaining." His smile grew wider.

"I mean it, Owen. There's plenty of floor space, and a very nice couch in the living room. Get off my bed."

"Aw, come on." He rubbed his eyes. "I can't sleep on the couch and risk my parents seeing me, can I? And sleeping on the ground is an adventure, but sleeping on the floor is pathetic, so… Not happening." He patted the bed beside him, inviting her to join him. "I've proven myself a good bedmate, haven't I?"

An eyebrow arched, she hummed. "Have you?"

"Again, not my fault!" He grimaced.

"Whatever." Claire slipped under the blanket, deciding in the end that the fight was not worth it. They could go round and round, and she'd probably give in anyway, if only to get him to shut up and let her sleep, so why not cut to the chase and save them both an hour or two? "Turn off the lights when you're done."

Still slightly unhinged from her near-breakdown earlier, she tucked her hand under her head, relieved to at the very least be in her own home, in her own element, and trying not to hear the man she could barely stand only a few days ago undress somewhere behind her, the soft rustling of his clothes particularly loud in the quiet of the night. The mattress dipped under the weight of his body when he climbed under the covers as well, and Claire closed her eyes, willing her mind to shut down at last.

"Everything went okay?" Owen asked softly just as she almost talked herself into falling asleep. "After I… I shouldn't have left."

"It was fine. I don't think they cared about you, or me, or anyone," she responded. Courtesy of the wine. And then asked, almost despite herself, "Why did you come back? I mean, you didn't have to. I told you I'd cover for you. You could have…" She faltered, a pang of wistful longing jolting through her.

There was a smile in his voice when he spoke. "We're a team, right? Might as well stick together till the end."

Claire felt her own lips tug up at the corners. "Now, these are the words I never thought I'd hear." They both stayed quiet for a while. "Can I ask you something?"

"No, I'm not naked, Claire. Why would you _think_ that?" He exclaimed in a loud whisper.

"Not that! God." She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, feeling him watch her, fighting the urge to move closer to the edge of the bed. Normally, it felt ginormous to her, but with Owen talking up more than half of it, it seemingly shrunk to a size of a single bunk. "I guess I'm curious… How did you even come up with the whole proposal on the cliffs thing? I mean, why not go for something more… traditional? Like a ring in a glass of champagne?"

Owen didn't respond right away, and after a few seconds, she started to count in her mind to distract herself from the idea of maybe leaping off the patio because why would she bring this up? And what did it matter? It wasn't like it was—

"No reason," he said at last, the words coming out in a whoosh of breath. "But if I ever had to… um, do it, it's probably how it'd happen, I think."

"You mean with the Petting Zoo girl?" Claire turned her head to find him stare straight up, one arm behind his head. He was wearing a white sleeveless undershirt, his tan skin standing out in striking contrast against her white sheets.

"What?" He turned to her, too, his forehead creased with puzzlement. "No. It wasn't…. we were never like that."

She nodded, not sure if she believed him or not, and looked away again. "Well, for the sake of our mutual cause… I have a scar on the inside of my left ankle from when I was six and didn't notice a loose nail while trying to climb over a fence," she started. "I failed Biology class once because I refused to dissect a live frog. Had to do summer school afterwards to fix it. I like the smell of coffee more than the taste of it. My favourite song is _November Rain_. You know, the one by Guns N'Roses?"

"Mm-hm."

"I read _Little Women_ about 15 times since high school. The first time I heard someone around here call me an 'ice-cold bitch' behind my back, I cried for an hour in the bathroom." Claire's voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. "And the tattoo on my back is a paper plane. I got it after my best friend died in a car crash when we were 16. She was, ah… a free spirit, wanted to travel the world, hence the paper plane." She cleared he throat. "Some of this is not in the questionnaire, but if it helps… You here?"

Owen was looking at her – as much as she could tell in the dark – when Claire rolled onto her side to face him.

"Yeah, I was just… listening," he whispered. "Biology? Really? I heard you rattle off the genetic modification data like you could do it in your sleep."

"As long as I don't have to cut any of them open…"

"I had my first kiss when I was 12, with a girl living next door. At the time, I thought it was very gross, and it took me a couple more years to figure out what the whole fuss was about." He rolled over to face her, too. "That thing I told you about the NAVY last night… I've never mentioned it to anyone before. Only the people I was with on that day know what happened there."

Claire bit her bottom lip.

"After you left tonight, I spent 20 minutes trying to come up with an excuse to ask you to come back."

"I was hoping you would." Owen reached his hand over to brush her hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. "I don't want you to take it the wrong way, Claire, but-"

"What?"

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever met."

Her lips curved ever so slightly. "You're only saying that to-"

"What? Get into your bed?"

He let out a short laugh, but his face was so close, and then it wasn't all that funny anymore, and before Claire knew what she was doing, she craned her neck to brush her lips to his. A palm on his cheek, his stubble ticking her skin, she felt him shift and slide his arm underneath her and around her waist. She drew back, startle by her boldness only to have Owen's mouth capture hers again as he pulled her over him, his hands slipping under her pajama top, low moan forming in the back of his throat and his skin so hot against hers she thought she'd be left with scorch marks.

"Good thing we're getting married, I guess," his voice trailed off, morphing into a guttural groan when Claire buried her fingers in his hair, tugging him closer and nipping his bottom lip.

The last coherent thought she had that night was that they didn't lock the door, but there still was a chance that Owen's parents would have enough sense not to barge in without knocking if they needed anything.

 **To be continued...**

* * *

 **A/N:** As per usual, please don't leave without a review :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note** : I wasn't going to post it till tomorrow, but I had time to go through it during my lunch break, so here it is. It's not particularly long because it was supposed to be a part of the previous chapter before the whole thing started pushing 12k, but I hope it wraps it all nicely enough :) Hope you guys had as much fun as I did!

* * *

A ring.

They needed to find a ring. To make it all look more authentic.

The thought occurred to Owen in the middle of the night when Claire was curled up against him, her hands running lazily over his wrists and forearms, barely touching his skin. He watched her lean pale fingers move slowly in the moonlight streaming through the large window, and something appeared to be missing. If Claire was so notorious about making this look real, they might as well take care of the ring.

It was an odd thought, really. Only a few hours ago, he would've probably thought about it strictly from a practical standpoint, but now the idea of going through with this insane plan had a whole new level of appeal to it, which left him both frightened and exhilarated.

Sometime after the second round, Owen picked his discarded pants from the pile on the floor to go get a glass of water only to end up hopelessly lost in Claire's practically industrialized kitchen until she pulled on his shirt to come help him find the glasses before he demolished it completely and woke up his parents in the process.

With mussed hair and endlessly long legs stretching from under the soft pale-blue cotton, she looked so damn amazing he all but pounced on her right there and then. Giggling and shushing one another, they found the glassed, Owen's arms wrapping around Claire from behind when she stretched up on her tiptoes to reach for them on the upper shelf, mouth brushing to her hair, her temple, her neck, giddy with the newly-discovered elation.

"Not a sound," she warned him in a hushed voice, although the corners of her lips kept on tugging upwards.

"Hmm," he agreed rather noncommittedly, chuckling into the crook of her neck.

Afterwards, she took his hand, lacing her fingers through his, and pulled him back toward the bedroom. They stayed up nearly until dawn, talking about nothing and kissing till their lips felt swollen and bruised. She fell asleep eventually, tucked into him, her face pressed into Owen's chest, when the sky started to turn pale grey at the horizon.

And she was still asleep when Owen woke up several hours later, groggy from exhaustion, his eyes feeling like someone rubbed them with sandpaper. Claire was sprawled beside him on her stomach, her hand tucked under the pillow – still wearing his shirt, Owen noted with amusement. He scooted closer, wrapping his arm around her, and buried his face into her hair, rubbing his nose against the soft skin along her hairline and breathing in her sweet scent.

As far as business arrangements went, this one was a total win in his opinion.

Claire stirred when he pressed a soft kiss to the nape of her neck, murmuring something unintelligible into the pillow. Owen's lips curved, his whole body flexing around hers.

"Mornin'," he whispered.

"Mm," she hummed. And then her eyes snapped open at once, hand reaching hastily for the phone on the nightstand and leaving Owen with his face planted in the pillow with a quiet _hmph_ of protest. "Crap," she muttered, kicking the covers away and tumbling out of the bed.

"Claire?" Owen called after her, rubbing his eyes and blinking in the sunlight, caught off guard by this sudden and rude awakening.

"I have to go," she muttered without looking up from the screen, her fingers moving swiftly as she scrolled through her messages or whatever. "I need to…" she paused in the bathroom door, still focused on her phone, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, a slight crease between her eyebrows as she frowned at something on the screen.

There was a way to make her wear nothing his shirt at all times, right? Barely half buttoned, too. Owen eyed her not without great fondness for a few moments, taking note of how if it was up to him, they probably wouldn't leave this room for the next decade, before swiftly leaping out of the bed with easy grace… only to have Claire step into the bathroom and slam the door in his face.

"You need a company?" He called out, but she either didn't hear him over the sound of running water, or her own response was swallowed by it.

Owen waited by the door for another few moments and then flopped back onto the crumpled sheets and emitted a long, content sigh, pleasantly spent and sated still, choosing to wait her out.

And then he promptly dozed off and woke up with a start to an empty suite and a note Claire left on the pillow saying something vague about work and how the world would fall apart without her, with the instructions about breakfast arrangements she made for him and his parents at the bottom of it. The bathroom door stood slightly ajar, the space behind it still filled with a cloud of floral-scented steam, and his shirt she slept in was folded neatly and left at the foot of the bed. Owen blinked, wrinkling his nose and kicking himself mentally for falling asleep.

He stretched lazily, grabbing his own phone from the nightstand to check the time, surprised to find out it was still rather early – no wonder he felt like someone punched him repeatedly in the eyeballs; he barely had 3 hours of sleep. He ran his hand through his tousled hair and down his stubbled jaw, and then reached for the shirt, burying his face in it for a long moment. It still smelled like Claire, and a goofy smile crept back on his face, the memories of the previous night flaring up in his mind, bright and vivid, the palms of his hands still burning with the feel of her skin, her whole body liquefied against his.

The truth was, he could be a smug jerk on occasion, and she could be prim and overly controlling, but hell if they couldn't turn it into something fun.

And then he wondered if there was a jewelry store on the island.

xoox

"Eat well," Elaine repeated for the 5th time, her voice rising over the commotion at the packed pier as the ferry rounded a stack of rocks, entering the harbor.

"I know, mom," Owen nodded obediently, feeling like he was 8 again and they were leaving him at a summer camp for a week.

"And take care," she added, her usual upbeat demeanor almost teary now, her lips wobbling slightly as she tried to pull them into a smile. They talked often enough not to feel disconnected, but it suddenly struck Owen that he hadn't seen his parents in the flesh for a couple of years now, and it probably felt even longer than that to them, his mother's emotional reaction not at all out of place by the second. "And don't work late," she added almost sternly, making him smile.

"Okay, mom," Owen enveloped her in a bear hug and squeezed her tight, lifting her off the ground.

"For heaven's sake, Elaine," Jack grumbled, rolling his eyes with a good-natured exasperation. "The man's 36 years old. Your job here was done when you taught him how to tie his shoelaces." He shook his head, eyeing his wife in amusement.

Yet, when she stepped away from her son, Jack pulled Owen into a hearty hug of his own, back slaps and all.

"And take care of Claire," Elaine added, her gaze daring toward the woman hovering behind Owen. Her voice dropped to a loud whisper as she winked at him. "She's a keeper."

"She sure is," Owen muttered without turning around.

After Claire's disappearance in the morning, he tried calling her, but his calls went straight to voice mail, and even though he had some words and questions for her, mostly of the _What the hell happened this morning?_ kind, having a one-sided conversation wasn't exactly his idea of dealing with this situation. Instead, he checked in with Barry about the feeding – normally, there were no training sessions on Sunday – and after being reassured about that, he took his parents out for breakfast and then to see the Mosasaurus one more time before they drove to his bungalow to collect their stuff.

By the time they made it to the ferry terminal and after hours of dodging their questions and ignoring their puzzled looks, Owen had about a dozen excuses for Claire's absence in his head, one wilder than the other. Yet, when they spilled out of his car and into the late afternoon, engulfed by the crowd waiting for the ferry, she was there, sharp and smiling, and apologizing profusely for being busy all day and barely looking at him, which only added to Owen's already foul mood.

Not that anyone noticed _that_.

"We should come over for Christmas," Elaine said, her eyes darting between her son and Claire. "What do you think, Jack? Or maybe you two could come visit us."

"We'll talk 'bout it," Owen responded vaguely when his mother wrapped her arms around Claire, and Claire hugged her back, and this was all suddenly getting too much, too fast. Like they were really going to have family visits, please! And it was the fact that he _wanted_ the two of them to do that left him feel like a piece of garbage. After all, she wasn't all that subtle at telling him to get lost, if her evasive gaze and stiff body language were any indication. "You're going to miss the boat," he reminded his parents as nonchalantly as possible, and then Jack picked up their luggage, and they were waving first from the gangway and then from the deck, and it was only until the ferry left the cove, disappearing from the view that he finally exhaled, wistful and relieved at the same time.

"Well, that was…" Claire started, more to fill the silence that settled over them on a suddenly empty pier than anything else. She turned to him. "I'm sorry, about the morning." She rubbed her forehead, squinting in the bright afternoon sun, the gentle breeze tugging at her hair. "Last night-"

"My god, please don't say anything," Owen cut her off and started toward his car. If she was going to launch into the 'It was a mistake' speech, and he was pretty damn sure this was where it was going, seeing as how they had maybe one solid second of eye contact after sleeping together, he might as well save her the trouble. "I get it."

"Owen, wait." She tried to keep up with him, fearing the thin heels of her shoes would get stuck between the boards of the dock as she walked briskly after him. He stopped and turned, his jaw set tight. "I have to… I have to be somewhere now, but can we talk later?" She paused and took a steadying breath, willing herself to sound composed and not pleading, and failing miserably on both accounts. "I mean, we're still…"

"We're still on for tomorrow," he cut her off, then exhaled slowly. "Eleven AM sharp." Goddammit, it was so hard to be mad at her, even when she was looking so infuriatingly like she could easily tear his heart out of his chest and crumple it is her tiny fist like it was a nothing. "Thanks. For coming here to… ah, say goodbye and all."

She smoothed nonexistent creases on her skits with her palms and nodded. "Of course."

The monorail train came and went, taking the few people who didn't board the ferry back to the park, and then there was nothing but the soft lapping of the waves against the sand and an occasional outcry of an animal in the distance, followed by a muffled response from another one.

Owen shuffled his feet, half wishing this whole past week never happened. "Well, I should actually…" He started, annoyed with himself for feeling like shit even though it was Claire who obviously couldn't get away from him, not even trying to be subtle about it. Well, it was a business arrangement from the start, wasn't it?

"Sure." Claire nodded again, her face nothing but a familiar polite mask that looked so out of place it was unnerving. He chose not to see sparks of panic and uncertainty flickering in her gaze. "I'll… um, I'll see you later… Owen."

He wished she called him _Mr. Grady_.

xoox

A few hours later, when the sun started to inch toward the horizon and the shadows began to stretch, growing long and surreally disproportional, she found him at the paddock where Owen was trying to make the best of maybe playing with the raptors for a bit to keep them on their toes after neglecting them for these past couple of days. When he first heard the footsteps on the stairs heading to the catwalk, he thought it was Barry or one of the other handlers – whoever didn't mind wasting their weekend here.

It was her voice that snatched his attention.

"So, this is who you've been spending all your time with."

He snapped his head up to see Claire step onto the catwalk, teetering a bit in her heels on the grated bridge, a thin folder in her hands.

"What can say?" Owen shrugged, watching her approach him, unable to hold back a traitorous glimmer of hope. "They get me."

And there it was, that small smile she was trying to bite back, her eyes on the animals below, somewhat cautious but mostly curious.

The raptors were following her every move, their tails wagging from side to side and their noses twitching, trying to catch a whiff of Claire's scent, their eyes narrowed predatory. Owen wondered if this looked like another game to them, something along the lines of 'Stranger for dinner', perhaps.

"Which one is which?" She asked, pausing in the middle of the catwalk, a few feet away from Owen.

He couldn't tell if this was a customary question, or if she was genuinely curious, but since they were ignoring the elephant in the room for now, he introduced the whole pack – Blue, Charlie, Delta, and Echo, each of them darting their eyes toward him at the sound of their names before focusing on Claire again, growling low in their throats. And then he was chuckling, and Claire turned to him, puzzled.

"What?" She demanded, obviously uncomfortable to be left out of the inside joke.

"They don't like you much," Owen informed her, watching the raptors with growing interest.

She scoffed. "That's odd. Usually I need to know someone for more than two minutes before they start disliking me." Her gaze locked with his, one eyebrow arched. "But I can live with that."

"No, it's not that." He leaned against the railing, studying the animals who continued to grumble softly, undoubtedly wishing Claire was just a little bit closer. "They… ah, they see you as my mate and it messes with the idea of a pack hierarchy that they have."

"Excuse me?" Claire's jaw dropped comically. "As your _what_?"

"Relax," he straightened up, amused by the display of her shock. The tightness in his chest eased a bit now that they were in the familiar territory of meaningless insults. "There's no other animal term for it." His smile was barely reaching his eyes though, but Claire was happy to take what she could get. "It's not about _you_ , per se." Owen's gaze flickered to the papers in her hands. "You wanted to go through the questions one last time?"

He figured that without his mother and father around, the sleepover would not be necessary anymore, so it would only make sense for them to quiz each other tonight before they go in full combat mode tomorrow. Agent Hendricks was going to be ruthless, Owen didn't doubt that for one second.

Claire glanced down and cleared her throat. "No, actually this is something… for you."

She handed the folder to him, and he took it automatically, his eyebrows pulled together. "What is this?"

She shrugged and also folded her arms on the railing, watching the raptors run in circles in the small clearing right beneath them, their dangerously narrowed eyes barely ever leaving her. It was unnerving, the bloodlust as well as the unmasked intelligence she wasn't oblivious to. The line of her work required seeing them as objects rather than living beings – sometimes it was easier, and sometimes it was messed up, but she wasn't blind to what they really were.

"It's your work permit," she explained casually.

Owen opened his mouth, and closed it when no words came out, and opened it again as he scanned the pages quickly, the words dancing before his eyes as his heart suddenly leaped up and set into a wild race against his ribs.

"Wait, how did you-"

"I know someone," Claire added breezily, offering him a fleeting smile.

Eyes narrowed, he turned back to her. "So, all these days you just _wanted_ to marry me?"

She pushed back from the railing and adjusted her hair, chin raised in that daring manner of hers. Claire Dearing, Operations Manager of Jurassic World back in the game. "No, marrying you was a Plan B, Mr. Grady, in case this," she pointed at the papers, "didn't come through faster. It was a bit of a last minute thing, but…" she trailed off and shrugged as if it explained everything.

Frankly, Claire wasn't fond of using Simon Masrani's name and asking his treasured business partners for any favours, but there was this one man they met at the embassy reception a while ago, and even though she hated herself for not thinking about him sooner and saving herself a great deal of trouble, it appeared that the end justified the means after all.

All she had to do was throw some big names in the conversation with his the previous morning and promise endless gratitude of Masrani Global, and by the time she got back to her office this afternoon, there was a message from him in her inbox. All courtesy of her charm and connections, even though her relief was short lived on account of how her relationship with Owen progressed to a rather interesting level. The one that scared the living hell out of her, hence the cowardly escape from her own home at the break of dawn.

Owen clamped his mouth shut. In the light of the fading sun, Claire's bob looked like it was on fire, her freckles bursting to life. He had never seen anyone look so unattainable.

"And," he cleared his throat, "what now?"

"Now you'll have an interview, on your own. And you'll get a stamp in your passport or whatever the work permit is. I doubt Agent Hendricks will bother us again." She paused. "We might have to wait for a couple of months before we call off our 'engagement' though, I'm afraid, so as not to arise any suspicions. There's enough talk about it as it is." An exasperated sigh. "But, like I said, you'll get to stay, I'll get my funding, and your assets will not become an attraction."

He bristled at her words, his frown deepening. "Velociraptors, Claire. Or animals. Not _assets_."

Her smile slipped. "Noted." A pause. "And, Owen? I'm sorry we had to drag your parents into this. I wish it wasn't necessary. The timing was messed up."

He nodded, both grateful for and annoyed by the sincerity in her voice. Well, they didn't make any specific holiday plans with them at least. That was something. "S'okay. I'll explain everything to them later. Not the fake engagement part, only the breakup. It'll probably be better that way."

"Probably," she agreed.

"And…. You and I?" He began.

Claire looked away, biting her lip, very interested in the grey concrete wall of the paddock. "Look, it didn't work out between us the first time around for a reason," she said with a sigh. "And it was a pretty damn good reason, too." She let out a shaky laugh. "We don't fit, Owen." Her eyes met his. "And last night… it doesn't change that. I had no right to ask you to lie to your family, and I had no right to know how wonderful they are because… God, because it's easier not to know such things about people." Claire brushed her hair away from her cheek. "Trust me, this is for the best." And then she squared her shoulders, as if physically composing herself, and offered her hand to him. "It was nice working with you."

He shook her hand automatically, too dumbfounded to know how to respond even though he knew this was where it was all going from the start. "Yeah. You, too."

"Well, I guess I'll see you around." Claire squeezed his hand one last time and stepped back. "The time and everything you need to know is in there." She nodded toward the papers in his hands. "Take care."

"You, too," he repeated as if his whole vocabulary was reduced to these two words.

He watched her walk away, looking about as royal in the raptors' cage as she did during her galas and speeches and fancy events, and once again, falling over the railing didn't seem like that bad an idea.

xoox

Whatever it was that Claire was so desperately trying to make happen, it was huge.

In a matter of weeks, they were building a cage for what Owen could only guess was a new T-Rex, the construction trucks zipping up and down the road to the docks to receive the supplies from the mainland, men in hardhats and bright vests shouting at one another across the road of the engines.

He'd caught sight of Claire a few times when he had to go to the resort for something or another – when he had an _excuse_ to go to the resort. The raptors were fussy and mean-spirited most of the time, either because of the heat, or because they remembered about her appearance at the paddock and stirring their established order of life. They would snap at him or each other, and Owen's own mood swings didn't bode well for productive work, either.

It was a business deal, he tried to tell himself. Never had been anything but that. If anything, Claire went out of her way to show him how little she wanted to have anything to do with him, and it wasn't like he was blind to how incompatible they were. Jesus, he saw her house, her habits, her lifestyle. He had next to nothing to offer to someone like her. Why would she even want—

But she wasn't that shallow. Underneath that glitter, she was soft and kind and funny, and more caring that anyone knew perhaps. And the way she was melting in his arms… how was he supposed to get _that_ out of his mind?

Owen proceeded to torture himself like this for two weeks, until one Friday afternoon, he found himself driving toward the park. The sun was high in the pal blue sky and the streets of the resort were packed with tourists, making it hard to navigate on food, let alone in a jeep – until he abandoned it at the nearest parking lot, sprinting toward the volcano-shaped building.

He hopped up the stairs, taking two at a time, and burst into the air-conditioned Innovation Center, assaulted momentarily by the images on a half a dozen screens mounted on the walls and the voices echoing in the large room, the holograms flickering in and out of life, feeling disoriented for a moment or two.

Claire was finishing the tour for a couple of serious men in expensive suits when he walked in.

"…the most groundbreaking of our experiments," Owen caught her say. Their eyes met over the crowd, and she stumbled for a moment before pulling herself together again. "And if you have any questions, please don't hesitate to call me anytime," she finished quickly, shaking the men's hands.

Owen was already moving toward her, easily maneuvering his way among the people, the crowd seemingly parting before him. She didn't have time to so much as take a couple of steps in his direction when he was right there in front of her.

"Owen, what are you-"

And then his hands were on her face, threading through her hair, pulling her toward him, and he was kissing her like his life depended on it, right there in the middle of the packed room and not caring one way or another about the people around them. Caught off guard for a second, she responded eagerly nonetheless, kissing him back with just as much abandon.

"I'm here to renegotiate the terms of our deal," he murmured between the pecks, his voice hoarse and low, and the blood rush in his ears rendering him pretty much deaf to anything around them.

Claire's fingers curled around his wrists, her lips curving into a smile against his. "Oh, really?"

"We make a damn good team, Ms. Dearing." He kissed her on the corner of her mouth, his nose bumping against Claire, and she giggled. "It'd be a shame not to put it to use. And I… wait a sec."

He pulled just far enough away from her to dig into the pocket of his shirt to pull out a ring – white gold band with a one-karat diamond that sparkled in the light filtering through the skylight windows that he got a week ago, half on impulse and half hoping he'd have the balls to do what he was doing right now.

"Owen…" Claire's eyes widened, but she made no attempt to pull away when his hand closed around hers and he paused for a moment to lock his gaze with hers before slipping the ring on her finger.

"This is no cliffs on sunset, but I missed you so much," Owen breathed out. "How 'bout we go with our original plan?" He looped a strand of hair around her ear and kissed her knuckles. "What do you say?"

Claire looked up from the ring, her face breaking into the most majestic smile, her green eyes sparkling.

"Mm-hm," she hummed as her arms wrapped around his neck, ignoring the sudden outburst of cheering around the two of them. "Run that by me again, will you?"

 **The end**

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, that was fun! Please let me know what you think :) And thanks for sticking around!


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